Teacher's Pet
by xXDark.Lord.MeloniousXx
Summary: An opportunity arrives, giving Kyle the chance to finally speak up for himself and what he believes in, but as he gains new friends in places he never imagined to find them, the most important figure in his life is slowly being driven away. STYLE R
1. He's Watching Him With Those Eyes

**Hi! This is another one for Stan and Kyle! I hope you all like the first chapter; all reviews are cherished and thank you to all of my consistent SP readers. You guys are the best! X3 Hope you like chapter one!**

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"Why are you so good at English?"

The redhead rolled his eyes, "Because I speak it."

Kenny sighed loudly from Kyle's floor, "This is retarded, why do we even need to learn Biochemistry, this is fucking gay."

"Shut up, Kenny, you're just making homework more painful." Cartman groaned, dropping his face into his textbook.

Kyle huffed, "The teachers just suck in South Park, it's not the classes. I mean…they give out homework every day and that's stupid, because then the kids are exhausted by the weekend and don't care enough to study for tests and quizzes which drops over all averages. It's all about timing and strategy with teaching, and the South Park school district seriously lacks…all that…"

"Shut the fuck up, Kyle." Cartman complained.

"You shut up, fat ass."

Stan touched Kyle's shoulder, gaining his visual focus before encouraging,

"It's okay, Kyle, I hear where you're coming from. You'd make a really good teacher."

The redhead flustered, "You really think so?"

"Totally. You'd be a perfect teacher."

"Wow…thanks, Stan…"

Cartman picked up his disheveled and page-imprinted face and mocked in a high-pitched voice,

"Oh—wah-ow—tancks, Stahn, yewr sew amayzing!"

"Shut up, fat boy!"

"AYE! I'M NOT FAT!"

Kenny made a twisted expression, "Hey, Kyle, you know what genital warts look like?"

"Uhm…no…"

The blonde frowned, "Dang, I think I have them."

"That girl from North Park probably gave it to you last week. You should call her and tell her to get tested." Stan offered as Kyle seemed disgusted.

"Fuck, I don't have her number…I don't even know her name…"

"That's seriously fucked up, dude." Kyle mentioned, tucking his face into his folded arms.

The immortal teenager stood up, announcing, "I'm leavin', I couldn't give a shit about my homework if I tried…I've got a date anyway; I'll talk to you guys later."

"Don't give anything itchy and cruel to any sweet, innocent girls, Kenny!" Stan chided as the boy left.

Cartman's chubby face was planted in his palm, on the floor facing Kyle's bed where Stan was lying beside the Jew. The heavy boy sighed,

"Not that this isn't totally a blast, but I think I'm goin' home too. I've got more devious arrangements to plot than…" He glanced to the textbook page he had been staring blankly at for the past two hours, "…than the epic failure of some short French guy's invasion of Russia."

"Napoleon Bonaparte." Kyle stated from under his arms.

"Whatever, nerd."

The boy stood and gathered his things, leaving only minutes later.

"You leaving too?"

"Huh?" Stan glanced to his friend.

"I said, 'are you leaving too'?"

"Course not."

Kyle looked up from his arms, one of his brows sinking as he inquired, "What do you mean 'of course'?"

"I know there's been something on your mind, Kye. You know I can always tell. I thought I'd stay over tonight and force it out of you."

The bookworm reddened, hiding his freckles in powdered shades of scarlet before stammering,

"I-I…how do you always know?"

The athlete smirked, looking away shortly as he listed, "Well, you get all different. I mean, you're shy, Kyle and even though you don't mean it to be, it's endearing, but when you're hiding something, your shy side becomes more of a nervous side. Rather than timid, you get anxious. And when you're upset you use different shampoos; I can tell cause your hair is darker or lighter depending on which one you switch for…not only that, your concentration slips a lot and you lick your lips a lot…need more? I've got a whole list…"

Kyle couldn't help the fact that he was warmed learning how observant his best friend was. It flattered him almost, made his heart flutter. He looked up at the boy from under his lashes in the adorable way he did that, unbeknownst to Kyle, made Stan's heart race.

"So? What's been bugging you?"

Kyle blushed and broke eye-contact, beginning, "I just…I…I'm scared to tell you…"

The ebony-haired boy tilted his head worriedly, "Really? It's me, dude…I mean…need I say more?"

Kyle smirked, but it died as quickly as it formed before he muttered, "I know…but I think that's why I'm having so much trouble telling you…you…"

He met his jade eyes with the enchanting indigo of Stan's as he pleaded, "You…do you promise…not to think any differently of me?"

"Of course; you're my best friend, Kye, my super best friend…I wouldn't change that for the world…"

"Really?"

The insecurity and vulnerability was foreign to Kyle's voice and eyes, thus Stan was very concerned. It was charming, but anything involving Kyle was charming. The beautiful teenager seemed so nervous, so scared that rejection was already illuminating from his worried eyes. The quarterback smiled gently,

"Yeah, really. So tell me."

He sighed, "Fine…"

There was a long moment of silence before Kyle continued shakily, "Stan…I…I…I think I might…I think I might be…be…"

"Be what?"

"I think…uhm…I think I might be…be…uhm…gay."

Both boys fell silent again; Stan was not shocked, however. He wasn't even disturbed by it. Kyle wasn't very feminine; in actions or looks, but there was still a girlish side to him that had been sprouting out since middle school. It never bothered Stan, he had grown to love that side, actually. When Stan had a rotten day, Kyle would go home with him and bake him brownies or cookies or something just as good, he would turn on a good movie on the Scifi channel and finish half of his homework load for him. He was inhumanly beautiful. Even Stan had come to terms with that fact; Kyle was a gorgeous human being. Track and basketball made his body lean and strong, but it was only athletic-looking as his diabetes-oriented diet kept him scrawny and lanky-looking. He had big, dazzling, emerald eyes that were occasionally draped over by his silky locks; they were thick and larger now. When he was younger, all of his curls were tiny and resembled banana-curls, but now that he was older, they had calmed into twenty or so curls, all thick and falling over each other like a waterfall of marmalade. His lashes and brows matched his fiery locks and that was something Stan loved. His body was virtually hairless; Kyle had always been sad about that, but it went with his OCD cleanliness. His face was sharp, boyish and completely symmetrical, carved to perfection from his hairline to his chin; oh, and his lips. They were thick, almost heavy and they sat on his pointed features like a colossal rose in a field of breath-taking tulips; it was perfection perfecting perfection. They were enticing; Kyle had won over 'straight' men before with those lips. There was something captivating about them. Even Stan found himself staring from time to time, but he never so much as mentioned that. He didn't want to scare his friend away by filling his head with meaningless thoughts.

"Yeah? How did you…figure it out?"

"Uhm…my lack of lust for vagina, maybe?"

"O-oh…uhm…yeah, that sounds pretty gay. I mean that…in the homosexual way…not the…mean way…"

Kyle chuckled nervously, "You don't have to act like that around me, Stan, I'm still me, I don't care if you say gay…honestly, I was just scared you wouldn't want to be my friend anymore."

Stan shot his eyes to the boy, easily overpowering him as he threw himself on Kyle, pinning him by his thin wrists to the bed before stating with an intense glare,

"You don't ever say that, Kyle. I will always be your friend. You don't think that and you don't feel that and you don't say that. I don't care if you're gay, if you're a girl, if you're Jewish, Asian or purple, it doesn't matter. Nothing, especially your sexual preferences, are gonna take me away, okay?"

Kyle flustered at feeling Stan's heart pounding against his own; he wondered how Stan always knew exactly what to say to make him feel better. He wondered how Stan always found the right words, always knew how to sound eloquent and intelligent without being overly so. He found himself slightly dazed by Stan's fierce stare; his eyes were an aquamarine so inviting that he was soon drowning in the ocean of ecstasy they offered him. They were so beautiful, contrasting between his soft complexion and his ebony hair. He didn't want to admit to his best friend that he was the reason Kyle realized he was gay; he didn't want to scare away his best friend. But who could truly blame him? Stan was tall, athletic, smart and understanding, he was soft-spoken in front of strangers and he respected the rules even when he broke them. He was a perfect blend of every medium, but somehow everything was extreme with Stan; Kyle never found himself bored around Stan. And although he thought Stan was far more handsome than himself, he found comfort in the fact that Stan still looked pre-pubescent like him; in that he still wasn't as hairy as his father. He always assumed Stan would get his father's hairy chest, arms, legs and face, but rather, Stan ended up with his mother's make-up; meaning, completely stripped of any hair. It was something that peaked Kyle's attraction, but it was something unique they both shared physically and it deemed Stan the only human being that Kyle could feel comfortable in front of when undressing. Stan's face was manly, but at the same time, soft; rounded, youthful face with those baby-blue eyes that charmed Kyle. He blushed more deeply, admiring his beautiful friend before answering,

"O-okay. I'm sorry I doubted you."

The athlete dropped his dead weight onto Kyle, making the redhead grunt as he collapsed onto his chest, yawning,

"You better be. But…I'm glad you could come out to me, Kye. I'm happy you can trust me so much."

"I'm glad you're not freaked out."

"Of course not. Just don't cross-dress. That'll freak me out."

Kyle scoffed and Stan felt the rise in the boy's chest as he breathed out, "As if. I'm gay, that doesn't mean I've lost my balls. And you never know, Stan, imagine my hair pinned back, a little white nurse hat on top my head, some white fishnet stockings, red heeled boots with buckles and tight, sexy little dress; you never know what might get you going till you see it."

"Are you insinuating that you dressed up like that will get me hot?" Stan teased.

He could hear the anxious smile in Kyle's voice when he retorted, "Are you insinuating that you would get hot at my being dressed up like that by asking me if I'm insinuating that you'd get hot at my being dressed up like that?"

"…what?"

"That's what I thought."


	2. The Stars Are All Aligned

**Chapter two! Hope you guys like it! Thank you to all reviews so far! X3**

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Stan's trained fingers were dialing across his Samsung keyboard; he spent most of his Spanish class texting to Kyle every day, it had become more or less a ritual between the two.

**Text received at: 1:36 P.M.**

**From: Dr. S. T. Slim**

**Dude r u gonna b here aftr scool?**

Kyle glanced up from inside his desk to see the teacher still facing his back to Kyle, dragging his sentences. The redhead dubbed it safe to reply,

**Text received at: 1:38 P.M.**

**From: Pimp Daddy K. Shmoove **

**Yeah, I'll be here. I was gonna go hang out with Mrs. Barnes.**

Stan looked down at the screen, softly chuckling at their stupid nicknames that were logged into their Contacts. He smiled, appreciating how awesome his Super Best Friend truly was as he responded quickly,

**Text received at: 1:39 P.M.**

**From: Dr. S. T. Slim**

**Ppl r gonna thnk ur sleepin w/ her wats w/ u & eng teachers?**

Kyle contained himself, his cheeks glowing with suppressed laughter as he replied,

**Text received at: 1:41 P.M.**

**From: Pimp Daddy K Shmoove**

**It's not all English teachers, it's just Mrs. Barnes. And it's cause I want to be her!! Plus, I keep her company during her lonely Extra Help evenings. My battery's almost dead, so I'll catch you out on the field later. **

Stan shut his phone after receiving Kyle's message, shoving it into his pocket as he smiled stupidly to himself. Ever since Kyle had come out of the closet, their friendship seemed to deepen. They had always made ridiculous nicknames for each other, they had always texted during class, they always hung out after school, but something was different now. It had been a month since Kyle had admitted his homosexuality and Stan had at first been scared, just as Kyle, that it would make things awkward or strained. However, they were both pleasantly surprised to find that they felt closer than ever. Kyle was on track but they had a different practice schedule than the football team and so Kyle would accompany Stan to his practices. Stan couldn't help the fact that he was flattered by that; that boy really was so loyal and…and…adorable. He was adorable, wasn't he? The way he would try and do homework from the bleachers but end up fighting with his curls that were constantly pulled and pushed by the ever-present South Park winds. The way he would wink or whistle or cheer or scream out to Stan when he was impressed; that was something Stan couldn't live without.

Impressing Kyle was a feat, truly. It was a very significant part of Stan that always wanted to be Kyle's hero, his best friend, his brother, so naturally, Stan loved it when Kyle was proud. He loved to see that utter shock in Kyle's emerald eyes as they would pop open and his appealing mouth would wind open and he would celebrate Stan. As Stan was being consumed by his thoughts, the bell rang and he sprinted out, down the hall and beat Kyle to his locker. As he waited, his on-and-off girlfriend, Wendy Testaburger walked by with her clique. Wendy hadn't been his girlfriend for three years, but Stan was still obsessed. She was out of reach, though; she was the most popular girl in school and no matter the fact that he dated her in middle school, no one knew his name. She was the Britney Spears of their educational institution, meaning that even if she got involved in all the drug rings in the school, the alcohol, the sex and activity of the ill-repute, somehow, everyone would still fucking love her. It was beyond all logic and common sense, but Stan couldn't stop himself from feeling nauseas when she passed. He sighed, turning away from her angelic strode among her several rumor-drenched, unrefined minions. His spirits lifted up again, though, at spotting his redheaded friend strolling towards him. He met the boy half-way and greeted,

"Hey! What's up?"

"Not much, you?"

"Eh, nothin' really. You got a lot of homework tonight?" Stan interviewed as someone budged into him, passing by.

"Fuck. Yes. I've gotta outline like three-hundred fucking chapters for Chem." Kyle groaned.

Stan frowned, "That sucks, dude."

"Yeah; not only that, but I found out I have a debate on the same day I have a track meet."

Stan laughed sadistically, "Sounds like you've been royally butt-fucked."

"Heh," Kyle huffed, "if only."

They both paused in their humor; both acknowledging silently that that was the first joke Kyle ever made about his orientation. Stan wondered if it was something he should take lightly, or wondered if it was something Kyle didn't mean to say out loud, or…eh, his brain wasn't built for so many questions.

"Y-yeah, well, I'm gonna go to the Gym now to change…I'll see you out there, right?"

Kyle beamed, "Y-yeah, totally, dude."

Stan grinned, turning around and racing through the frantic crowds to escape into the Gym, then the locker room. Kyle smiled after the boy, sighing to himself in contentment. He turned the opposite direction, walking up two flights of stairs before turning another hall, then entering the door closest to the turning corner of another staircase. Seated at one of the two paper-polluted desks was a young woman, mid-twenties, grading papers until she looked up and smiled to Kyle.

"Well, Broflovski, how are you this Wednesday evening?"

His lips spread, flashing his Colgate-fangs as he took a seat on the table directly in front of her desk,

"I'm well; you?"

She planted her chin on the back of her hand as she settled her other hand across the pile of essays, responding with a shrug,

"Just waiting for the weekend."

Kyle nodded, "Believe me, I know exactly what you mean."

At that statement, Eric Cartman walked in, looking to Mrs. Barnes, "Hey, what did I get on the Critical Lens Essay?"

She went digging through her heap as Eric looked to Kyle, muttering, "Lookin' especially retarded today, fag."

The freckled boy scowled, "Likewise, Cartman."

The woman sat back up, pushing some strands of raven hair behind one of her diamond-adorned ears as she handed the brunette his loose-leaf, an eighty-three written in red on the top of the page. Eric seemed pleased, "Thanks."

He looked to Kyle again, tilting one of his thick brows as he sneered, "See you later, pussy."

"Hopefully not, fat ass."

With that, the infamous sadist left the student and teacher alone. The woman broke out a can of Diet Coke from one of her drawers, as her French-manicured fingers pulled back on the top and the deadly acid sizzled to life, she interrogated kindly,

"So, Broflovski, what are you doing tonight?"

"I'm hanging out with Stan. You know he has practice every Wednesday."

She smirked as she took a sip, exhaling gratefully before responding amusedly,

"You're cute sometimes, Broflovski. Why do you tag along with him so much?"

The teenager shifted on the table, more comfortably fitting himself on the board as he answered slowly,

"I guess…I mean…Stan is…he's my best friend…he's like…the only good thing about South Park."

Mrs. Barnes seemed touched by the boy's explanation, "That's so cute."

Kyle blushed, making a contorted expression, "I-is not. It's just the truth."

"Geez, Broflovski, I wish I had a friend like you when I was a teenager. It's hard to find reliable, trustworthy people in high school, You two are very lucky to have each other."

He simpered, "Yeah. I know I'm lucky, there's no question about it. I mean…ever since we were little, he's just been the most amazing person…there's no one else in the world that I can say the kind of stuff to that I say to him, and there's just nothing better than…to talk to him…is that…weird?"

The woman looked like she was on the verge of squealing in fangirlish delight. Her voice first came out high-pitched, but calmed as she continued,

"Ohh, Broflovski, you're too much! And no, of course that isn't weird. It's certainly different, you're definitely blessed, but not weird."

Kyle was about to reply, but his voice vibrated against his thigh, so he took it out and flipped it open. It read;

**Text received at: 2:26 P.M.**

**From: Dr. S. T. Slim**

**Dude where r u?**

He rolled his eyes, looking back to the teacher as he apologized,

"Sorry, Mrs. Barnes, but Stan's asking for me out there. I'll see you tomorrow."

She grinned, her cheeks growing a bit rosy as she flicked her hand, waving him off as she responded encouragingly,

"Oh, of course, don't keep him waiting. I'll see you tomorrow."

Kyle wasn't sure how to interpret her gleeful demeanor with her indifferent voice, so he brushed it off and waved to her before making his full departure. He descended the floors, out the Gym doors and onto the bleachers by the field; once Stan found him, he raced to the boy and breathed out,

"Where were you?"

"I told you earlier, I went to see Mrs. Barnes."

Stan made a sarcastic, expectant face as he muttered, "Right, of course."

"Shut up."

The ebony-haired boy, however, could not hide his eagerness, "But you're staying, right?"

Kyle grinned, "Yeah, yeah, you know I always do. I'll just do my psychology homework; you'll do the Spanish homework with me, right?"

Stan made a guilty face, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, "You'll probably end up answering most of the questions for me again."

"I would expect no less." Kyle snickered.

Stan shoved Kyle's broad shoulder in a friendly gesture before being called back onto the field by the coach. The redhead went on to settle on one of the silver benches, taking out his homework and pretending to do it as he always did. His studies, that nerdy behavior, it was all for show, after all. Kyle reasoned that if Stan thought he was doing work, he wouldn't bother seeking attention during practice; that way, Kyle could admire the gorgeous boy without ever dropping a hint. Oh, how Kyle loved Wednesdays.


	3. There's Nothing I Can Say To Change This

**Chapter three! Hope you guys like it!**

**Thank you to all reviews so far! They are cherished!**

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"I heard Wendy's thinking of asking you out."

Stan looked up from his computer, to his bed where Kenny was lying on his stomach, flipping through a random magazine. The blonde cocked a brow,

"Care to hear more?"

Stan nodded vigorously, moving his rolling chair to his friend as Kenny cupped his chin and replied nonchalantly,

"Well, turns out her friend Danielle is the one that gave me whatever I've got down town, so I was talking to her over the phone and she gave me the whole 'I wasn't supposed to say anything, but…' and then she told me that Wendy's totally hot for you again and talking about asking you out."

Stan smiled, which felt much stranger than he remembered last, as he responded gladly,

"Shit, that's awesome."

"Yeah, but I wouldn't tell Kyle, kay?"

Stan curved his brows worriedly, "Why wouldn't I tell Kyle? He's my best friend, Kenny…"

"Yeah, but…" The blonde looked away momentarily, "he doesn't get it like I do. Kyle doesn't like Wendy and he's gonna want you to ignore her."

"Kyle would never do that." Stan defended, "He may not like her but he wouldn't just…he wouldn't do that."

"Yeah?" Kenny closed his eyes back in on Stan, "How do you know that?"

"I just… I just know." Stan trailed off.

Kenny rolled his eyes, "Right, great, anyway, do you realize how popular that would make you? I mean, she is the messiah of South Park High. You'd have fan groups! You'd get fan-mail, meaningful friendships would be distant memories, fogged by colossal overuse of drugs and alcohol to escape the pressures of popularity that develop from the ever-growing anxiety that once you say or do something opinionated and intelligent that your peers will cast you aside as a finished product put to waste on the lower statuses of loserdom! People will love you! They'll throw their panties when they see you walking down the halls!"

Stan looked disturbed, but shook it off as he agreed, "You're right. People love her, so if she loves me again, that means I'm doubly loved."

"Damn right."

Stan chuckled, mentioning hesitantly, "You know…this is pretty gay, but…Kyle loves me a lot, Kenny and that's why I trust him. I don't know that…that Wendy's affection…could…you know…top him."

Kenny smirked, a strange lift on his brow as he responded in humor,

"Yeah, that's more than pretty gay, that's fabulous. That's fierce, that's so gay, Stan. It's more than Wendy's love; it's the devoted love of fourteen hundred kids. Fourteen hundred! From freshmen to seniors, they will all want you in their pants!"

"But-"

"Stan, you can't deny that one person like Kyle could stand up to fourteen hundred kids."

Stan frowned, "You're…I mean…you're right, he can't…he's shy and nervous a lot and he's really smart and whatever, but…he's got so much more depth than any of them…you know what I mean?"

"Whatever, nice guys finish last, Stan; depth is out, shallow is in. Anyone who says different is selling you something or completely socially inept."

Stan tilted his uneasy lips, "I dunno, Kenny."

"Are you saying that if Kyle didn't like Wendy, you wouldn't go out with her?" Kenny asked incredulously.

Stan's instinct kicked in, forcing him to reply, "N-no! I'd got out with her still, but I'd be a little more conscience about his…you know…feelings or whatever."

"Gay."

"Ken-"

"GAY."

"Bu—"

"GAY, GAY, FIERCE, YOU GAY FIERCE TRANNY, YOU TRANNY BITCH."

Stan's face couldn't correctly relay his utter discomfort, so he turned away, shaking his head,

"You need serious help, my friend."

"Yeah, I know…hey, Stan?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you know why Kyle's so hot for Mrs. Barnes?"

Stan snickered, "I have no idea."

"I mean, she's hot, but she's too old for my taste."

"She's like twenty-eight, retard."

"Whatever, that's still…twelve years older than me. Freaks me out to know she was in middle school when I was being cranked out."

"Not right."

"Whatever. I wish we all had classes together. Mrs. Barne's eighth period English is the only period I have with you and Kyle; it's not even the same without Cartman there. He's an asshole and somehow I almost miss him."

"How could you?"

"I dunno. He was always obnoxious enough to say what we were all thinking."

"Huh…I guess so."

Kenny smiled, "That's something I love about our friends too…"

Stan turned his seat, facing the blonde again as he inquired, "What is?"

"That Kyle and Cartman never really changed…I mean, they changed, they grew and got more mature and whatever, but…when they're together they still fight all the time and hate each other, but are still friends…I feel like they're like…the epitome of childhood."

Stan tilted his head in thought as Kenny continued, "They have differences, but don't care, you know? Cause you know that if something Kyle didn't agree with happened to Cartman, no matter how much he hates that fatass, you know he'd defend him to the death just to prove a point. Cartman would do the same for Kyle. It's like their secret way of showing they care about each other, I think."

Stan couldn't help the twinge of distaste he suffered from that statement,

"Secret way?"

Kenny's lips spread into a smile as Stan added, "Why would it have to be a secret?"

"Come on, Stan," Kenny began, "haven't you ever thought that they might have tiny crushes on each other?"

"WHAT?!" Stan shot, jumping out of his chair.

Kenny put his hands up in defense, "I mean, they fight like an old married couple, they find loop-holes in their mutual dislike to show some sort of affection to each other; Cartman's been doing stupid shit since we were little to try and get Kyle's attention, to get him jealous and fired up. Kyle would pick fights with Cartman, knowing full well that he'd get a reaction; they've got chemistry, you know?"

Stan seated himself again, "Shut the fuck up, Kenny, Kyle would never like Cartman."

"Am I hearing some distain in that dreamy, alto voice, Stanley Marsh? Jealousy, perhaps?"

The quarterback glared, "I'm not jealous, asshole, why would I be? There's nothing to be jealous of."

Stan was scowling at his computer screen, wondering if Cartman did like Kyle, and if he did, would he ever try anything with Kyle? And why did that bother him so much? Why did he care who Kyle got gay with? That wasn't any of Stan's business, after all. Something hurt about that, though. Something in that thought made his chest and knees feel weak and he wondered if anyone ever thought _he_ and Kyle had chemistry. Could they? Had he been blind to it? Of course not. Kyle was his best friend, of course they had chemistry; friendly chemistry. Nothing beyond that. Nothing beyond that that Stan would ever, ever in forever ever dare to dream of pursuing.

* * *

**Text received at: 2:30 P.M.**

**From: Dr. S. T. Slim**

**R u w/ mrs barnes?**

Kyle looked to his cell phone, quickly shutting it as Mrs. Barnes went on about her soon-to-be ex-husband.

"Why would he do something like that?" Kyle questioned softly.

"Men are cold-hearted, Broflovski."

The redhead glared, "It can't just be that. You're beautiful, Mrs. Barnes, you've got long, dark hair, a beautiful face and a sexy body, why would he cheat on you?"

"No time." She frowned, looking away, "I had no more time for him."

Kyle's brows curved, watching as she sipped at her Diet Coke.

"Mrs. Barnes…is there…rum in your soda?"

Her expression was a cross of clever all-knowingness and sadness as she responded lazily,

"You're so observant, Broflovski. Have you ever been in love?"

"W-what?"

"Have you ever been in love?"

He blushed, looking away, "I…I think so."

"You think? Why don't you know?"

"Well…I once thought I was in love with my best friend."

"Ah," She began wisely, "yeah, we've all been there, Broflovski. Everyone, at one point or another, thinks they might be in love with their best friend. It's natural; they seem like the perfect person, but that's the issue. The person you love, Broflovski, will be anything but perfect for you. They'll be a miss-match, a polar opposite…they will be everything you're not, they'll have everything you lack…and that's why you become so attracted…"

The redhead frowned, "That's what my best friend's like. Strong and social and good-looking and…heh, the jock-type…not as family-oriented, not as politically correct, not as dorky as I am…so confident…and I'm not." He tucked his fingers in his front curls, muttering, "I feel so worthless next to h—my friend…and even though I'm a total screw-up, even though I complain and cramp our style and sound like a whiny idiot sometimes, my friend keeps me around and spews all these words of praise that I don't deserve…"

_"Totally. You'd be a perfect teacher."_

"My friend knows me better than anyone in the world,"

_"I know there's been something on your mind, Kye. You know I can always tell._

"my friend gets me, my friend is my whole world…and nowadays…I can't go one second without thinking about my friend…"

Mrs. Barnes planted her can down, mentioning, "It sounds like you still think you might be in love, then."

"Yeah, I know. It makes me sick. It's like…this disease that takes over everything I do and say and I can't be myself because myself isn't good enough…not when I'm around my friend…my friend is just too perfect…and I hate them at the same time that I love them. It's driving me up the wall…I can't think, I can't sleep, I can't eat…"

"When did that start?"

Kyle chuckled, "Like…fifth grade."

"Fifth grade?! You were in love in the fifth grade!?" She laughed.

He rolled his eyes, "Not exactly…I just felt something stronger than friendship that…I didn't know how to classify…I was young, I didn't get it at first…once I got older and heard all the stories about Snow White and Beauty and the Beast, I thought I might be in love…then I just sort of accepted it…but when I got older it got worse and more painful and more troublesome and I hated everyone my friend dated and I hated everyone my friend wanted…I just wanted to escape it all…so I drowned myself way deep down…"

"What do you mean, Broflovski?"

He looked away from her, to his feet, "I pushed what made me "me" way, way deep down so that my friend would never have to see it…my friend would never have to deal with my stupid emotions that would only prove to become a heavy burden on them…I didn't want my friend to get sick of me or want to run away or leave me behind…honestly, Mrs. Barnes…I've really come to terms with the fact that true love has passed me by and I am destined to this life. Forget the sex, the kisses, the hushed sort of conversations…just being near to my friend makes me feel blessed…so I don't really mind being alone."

The woman's simper was bittersweet as her broken voice leaked out the sound of developing tears,

"I get you."

He looked to her, watching her wipe at her tears as she nodded and repeated, "Yeah, I get you. I met Brandon in elementary…we grew up together…and we hated each other; but that was mostly because I was this butch tom-boy and he took me like some freak stepping on his turf. In middle school, though, he got taller and broader and I got curvy and feminine and then in high school…he started noticing me differently and giving me different looks, he avoided me a lot and walked away from a lot of fights…then one night…he stayed home sick and I went to deliver his homework…he was home alone, upstairs in the last bedroom down this really narrow hall…I walked down the hall, opened the door without knocking and there on his bed were these three photos of me, and you wanna know what was next to them?"

Kyle shrugged, "What?"

She laughed out, "Used tissues."

Kyle laughed with her, "Gross! Weren't you freaked?"

Her puffy eyes didn't align with her wide grin as she responded, "Kind of, but I didn't want to leave. He walked in his room, then, covered in hot water and nothing but a towel, and that's when I needed to get out."

Kyle laughed again, feeling tears coming to his own eyes as the wounded woman's story wormed its way into his chest,

"He actually chased me into the street, half-naked like that and started apologizing like crazy."

"Well? What did you do?"

She posed her chin in her palm again, "What came naturally; I kissed him."

Kyle beamed as she continued, "We dated for years and in my second year of college, he proposed to me and we were married over summer break. We didn't quit school or anything, but we did get a flat together and commuted to school…we played house for the next three years, then bought our own house; he's a lawyer, you know. Graduated from Harvard. He's a know-it-all sometimes, but he's got a right to be so cocky. I don't think I could love him as much as I do if he weren't like that…then all of this, this shit happened…how was I supposed to know? He worked ten times more than I did, he was in his office constantly, how was I supposed to know he wasn't working cases but working his damn secretary?"

The woman banged her fist onto the table abruptly, making Kyle cringe as she wiped at her tears again and the redhead inquired timidly,

"Mrs. Barnes…if you still love him…why are you leaving him?"

"I'm not leaving him. He's leaving me."

Kyle was broken-hearted; there was nothing he could do. He was only a teenager, he was only turning sixteen, there was nothing he could do for this woman. He could only sit and watch her cry and talk about how her husband was a sexual deviant who betrayed her trust in the cruelest fashion. Kyle wondered why people who love each other so hurt each other the way they do. He wondered why a beautiful, funny, kind person like Mrs. Barnes was being left by the only man she ever loved, the only man she wanted to love. He wondered if he was better off without love.

"You know, Broflovski," She began, slurring slightly, "your mother came to our PTA meeting a few weeks ago and you know what I told her?"

"Yeah?"

"I told her that if I dropped dead, you'd be able to continue the lesson."

Kyle smiled weakly, "Thanks, Mrs. Barnes."

"No." She started firmly, "Broflovski…if there is one thing you leave my classroom with this year, is please…please know that dreams are important…and you can't let—not one—die out. I was distracted with my students and paperwork and school functions…chasing my career and getting a name for myself…that…I let my husband fall out of love…and now I have to live alone…and work alone and eat alone and sleep alone and…it's not worth it Broflovski…not all the money or pride in the world could bring him back to me…so if you're alone someday, Broflovski and you're hurting like you've never hurt before, come to me and you can help me finish off a bottle of wine."

Kyle's dainty wrist caught tears as they fell down his face and he told her,

"Thank you, Mrs. Barnes."

"Call me Bernadette."

"Yeah…you can call me Kyle."


	4. Headfirst For Halos

**Chapter four! Woot woot! I'm on a roll! This one's two times larger than the others! PWND!**

**Hope you guys like it! Thank you to all adds and reviews so far, it's so appreciated! X3**

* * *

Stan was glaring unintentionally at Kyle pushing Cartman's face away from his desk, barking,

"Copy someone else's math homework!"

Stan's eyes widened at watching Eric's mouth spread as he licked Kyle's palm; the redhead's arm defaulted against his chest as Stan shot up from his seat on the bed. Cartman gave Stan a strange, quizzical look as Kyle wiped his hand on his jeans, muttering,

"Gross, Cartman. You're retarded, that was so not fair."

The brunette moved his attention back to the Jew, responding lowly, "Yeah, that's tough, now show me the homework!"

Kyle looked to the athlete as Cartman took his worksheet and glanced between it and his own blank sheet. The freckled teen tilted his head cutely,

"What's wrong, Stan?"

He flustered, trying to calm his scowl before taking a seat again and replying, "N-nothing."

There was a ringtone mimicking "I Kissed A Girl" by Katy Perry in the room and Cartman quickly reached into his pocket, picking up and answering,

"Yeah?"

Kyle and Stan's eyes met in a humored stare as Eric added, "Yeah, yeah, I'll be home in five minutes. I told you, I'm at extra help… why would I be at Kyle's? No, mom, I'll be home soon. Alright, bye."

He shut his phone, telling the duo,

"I need to go home. I'll talk to you guys later."

"What's with your ringtone, dude?" Kyle laughed as Cartman gathered his book-bag and jacket.

"I was stupid enough to lend Kenny my cell phone after school and he fuckin' messed with my ringer. Anyway, I'll see you losers later."

With that, he exited and left Kyle and Stan alone. The redhead stood up and walked over to Stan,

"I need a walk."

"Uhm…a walk?"

Kyle nodded, his satin curls bobbing as he repeated, "Yeah…I've been so overloaded with work…I wanna go by the lake."

Stan rose from his seat, muttering, "Yeah…alright."

Kyle disappeared into his mother's room momentarily before they proceeded to leave the house and walk down by their elementary school. Stan was hypnotized by Kyle's lips as he spoke; Stan felt sort of bad, no listening completely, but they were so enticing. They were so soft-looking, so attractive, so distracting, so irresistible, so kissable. He blushed at that, but he still wasn't quite able to tear his eyes from them; his concentration snapped to his even more gorgeous eyes, though, when he noticed Kyle was looking straight at him.

"Are you okay, dude?"

"Uhm…yeah."

"Are you sure? Do I have something on my face?"

Stan's heart thumped as he stuttered, "I-I-uhm-y-yeah, s-stay still…"

He removed his glove, reaching his warmed hand to Kyle's face…

What was he doing this for? Of course Kyle didn't have anything on his face. Kyle was too clean of a person to ever walk out of the house with a blemish or stain. His digits curved around his friend's perfectly structured jaw as his guitar-callused thumb reached up and ran over the corner of the boy's lips. It was slow, deliberate and making Kyle incredibly nervous. Stan wondered where the sudden fascination was coming from; of course he had always known that Kyle was stunning, but he had never been possessed to look for excuses to touch him. He thought that maybe it was because he knew now that Kyle was gay; that made him more anxious, though. If Kyle was gay, would he think something of what Stan was doing? Did he enjoy it? Did he foresee Stan doing something like that? Did he dream of Stan doing things like that? And if it was, should he stop? Or was that stereotypical of him to assume that all gay men just want to be touched by other men? Was he flattering himself? Was it justified?

"Is it gone?" Kyle's voice came into focus again.

Stan abruptly pulled his hand back, shoving it into its designated glove as he stammered,

"Y-yeah, it, uh, it's gone, yeah."

Kyle brushed it off, continuing,

"Stan…you…you didn't tell Kenny or anyone that I'm…you know…"

The athlete's left brow was perched high on his forehead as he answered,

"Of course not. Why?"

"I don't know," he began, "I think he…I think he knows…"

"Why would you think that?"

"I don't know…he's just been…weird around me lately. Did he tell you anything?"

Stan flustered at remembering his last conversation with their unlucky friend,

"I…uhm…"

_"Yeah, but I wouldn't tell Kyle, kay?"_

"I…no. He didn't tell me anything."

Kyle sighed as they turned another corner, approaching a frozen lake in a vacant, freezing, snow-covered field. He dropped a bag onto the snow and unloaded two pairs of ice-skates, looking to Stan as he tied his on,

"Come on, Stan, what're you waiting for?"

"Ice-skating? You wanna go ice-skating?"

"Yeah…why not?"

"I…I don't…uh…" Stan looked away bashfully, "I don't know…how…uhm…to…you know…skate…"

Kyle looked at him with a shocked face which switched Stan's defense on,

"B-but, skating is pretty gay, I mean, I wouldn't wa—"

Kyle held his waist, slanting a smirk in disapproval as he interrogated,

"Oh, so now there's something wrong with being gay?"

Stan frowned, "I-I didn't mean it that way, you know I wouldn't…I…ugh."

He reached down, picking up the skates; after indirectly insulting his friend, he knew there would be no way of getting out of it. As he tightened them, he looked up from the ground to see Kyle on the ice; his hands were deep in his maroon jacket and Stan noticed that Kyle's pants had never appeared so tight before. He blushed more deeply, his eyes low and he was more spellbound to Kyle than ever. He first examined that although Kyle's feet were big, they weren't strangely so, they weren't obnoxious; his legs then, they were strong, but still thin and tall, and everything about his bottom half screamed "Scene Kid", but Stan loved something about that. He looked at Kyle's tiny waist as he curved to the right; he was so skinny and had something akin to a female-like shape, but that may have been due to just how scrawny he was. His shoulders were low and his calm, indifferent expression made Stan's heart pump faster. He spotted how red Kyle's ears were; he rarely wore his old hat, but still refused to get rid of it. His enchanting eyes landed on Stan and he skated over to him, stopping a few inches in front of him and offering a hand to help him up. Stan took that help and unsteadily rose to his feet, gripping tightly to Kyle's entire arm, making the Jew laugh.

"S-shut up, I've never done this!"

"Okay, okay!" He giggled.

Stan gained some composure, now lightly holding to both of Kyle's shoulders and breathing out,

"Okay…now what?"

The redhead jerked his head, trying to shake some curls out of his eyes, which initiated Stan's hand to lift and rub his head, ruffling his silky locks. Kyle was smiling when he barked,

"Dick! Hate you!"

His hands reached up and messed Stan's hair in turn, both practically losing footing, until their foreheads hit against each other. They both groaned with laughter, Kyle complaining,

"You're a jerk, I probably have frizz now."

Stan was watching their breaths hit against each other in little clouds; he could feel Kyle's words imprinting against his own lips, he was so close. Stan had an eerie feeling that his blood was moving ten times the speed it normally did, because he could so easily move an inch closer and they would kiss. He was worried that that made his heart giddy, he was worried that that warmed his chilled body…

"Your hair looks fine."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Kyle simpered angelically, "Come on. I'm going to back up and you'll glide from me, kay?"

Stan was blatantly uncomfortable, "I'm going to fall."

"Yes, Stan. You are going to fall eventually. We all fall."

"Not you; you never fall."

"Of course I fall." He snorted, as if it was a ridiculous accusation, "Are you kidding? I've gotten bruises from falling on the ice in places I didn't even know existed. So don't worry so much. How about every time you fall, I'll fall with you, kay?"

Stan blushed again, their eyes meeting and Stan became entranced by Kyle's divinely gentle gaze…

"Y-yeah…okay…"

How did Kyle have that power? Not that Stan completely protested; it was what made Kyle so glorious, after all. He had that power to make everything okay, no matter how nervous or scared Stan became. If he looked into those ivy irises that melted into him like a jade hypnosis, then nothing and no one could ever hurt him. Because when he looked into those eyes, they were pure and intelligent and breath-taking and concentrated solely on him and all that he meant to Kyle; they were best friends—super best friends—that no harsh words, insults, preferences or rumors could tear apart. Kyle meant home to Stan, he was someone he trusted with everything in a place where there was nothing; he could cry in front of Kyle, he could snort when he laughed and not care that he heard it, he could tell him all of his bad grades and not feel embarrassed, he could seek help without feeling lesser and he was always secure in the fact—the factual reality—that they cared more about each other than any other human being could possibly comprehend. There was never a sacrifice too great for Kyle, never a secret he couldn't withhold, never a promise he wouldn't preserve; it was true, he would do anything for that boy. And in his heart he knew Kyle would do the same and felt the same.

Other kids their age; they could never understand. Their hearts were immature and inexperienced to such profound concepts as their ever-growing friendship. Even though Stan felt some sort of pity for the masses that could never truly feel that blissful comfort and care that he did, he was glad to know that it was something only he and Kyle could share. It was no one else's and only theirs, and nothing in the world was strong enough to penetrate that shield.

"You see? You haven't fallen yet! You wanna try letting go?"

"No." He immediately responded.

Kyle chuckled, watching Stan's back slowly curve as his torso couldn't keep up with Kyle's pace and his legs spread with his body in the shape of a perfect right angle. He looked up from his charcoal bang, twitching it from his face, but it only fell back into place as he muttered with distain,

"You…are an asshole."

Kyle laughed cynically, "Come on, I believe in you, Stan! You can let go, I promise if you fall, I fall too."

"What good does that do me? Then we're just both idiots stuck on our asses!"

The redhead laughed again, his smirk somewhat motherly or loving; Stan couldn't decide which.

"Stan, you can fall, but you never fall alone."

The quarterback flustered slightly, meeting Kyle's eyes again as he continued seriously,

"Not when I'm around. If you fall, I fall with you, if you go down, I go down with you. So you never have to get back up on your own. I'm with you all the way."

"Kye…I…"

The bookworm's stomach tickled with butterflies; he loved it when Stan called him by that cute nickname. It just sounded so much closer, it sounded so much more intimate; sure, he was just removing "L", but something about the way it rolled off of Stan's tongue made Kyle's heart pound. That was something he had grown used to, though, and had found an eloquent way of hiding such physical reactions. He suddenly caught the worried glint in Stan's eyes; worried or curious, he couldn't tell.

"What if…I fell hard. What if I fell real low and everyone was watching?"

"I'd fall harder, faster to cushion your landing."

Stan's blush deepened as he shot his wide pupils to his friend again as he added,

"I'm only half of me without you, Stan, you bring me to my optimum. There's no me without you, but even if I had the choice to stand while you fell, Stan, I wouldn't; half of me could never appreciate stability as much as a whole of me could treasure being at rock bottom with you."

"What if you hated me?"

"An impossibility."

Stan smiled gradually, a squeezing in his ribcage that was foreign to him until that moment; it was a good squeeze, though. As if Kyle was shrank and literally hugging his heart, just because. And looking into those eyes, those goddamn eyes that were the lake of green tea into Kyle's soul which was just as nutritious and healing; they would pour from those vibrant irises like waterfalls and flow into Stan, down his throat and fill him with that flooding warmth of boiling sweetness.

"Just pretend you're floating."

"Floating? We're on ice, there's more risk for bruise than cloud puffs…"

Kyle rolled his eyes, "You wanna know who said that?"

"Who?"

"Johnny Bravo."

"Really?"

"Yeah, and you wanna know who taught me how to ice-skate?" Kyle interviewed.

"Who?"

"Johnny Bravo."

"For real?"

"Uhm, fuck yes. He was hardcore, I listened to anything he did. He was the only reason I was secretly proud of my tall hair. But he failed when it came to the ladies, so he wasn't my biggest role model back then."

"Who was?" Stan asked conversationally, bringing his torso up again, although he found himself nervously pressed up against Kyle's.

"You."

He switched his visual focus from their chests' proximity to look into his eyes once again…

"…me? Really?"

"Yeah. You know who you remind me of?"

"Who?"

"Ash Ketchum."

"That means you'd be Misty."

"WHAT? WHY?"

"Because, you're a ginger. And inside you're a girl. And you whine a lot. And you don't like bugs. You're totally Misty."

Kyle scowled, "I should drop you."

"If you do, I will hate you forever."

"Likely."

"Don't threaten me with a sore ass, you're the one who decided you like that, not me."

Kyle laughed and Stan eventually found himself comfortable enough to laugh with him as Kyle told him through chuckles,

"You fuckin' suck, dude."

"Actually, rumor has it, you do."

At that, they both violently fell to the ice with a thud. Although there were moans of pain, they were silenced by clumsy giggling. Stan was lying his head lazily on Kyle's chest, listening to and feeling him breathe beneath him until he heard the boy inquire breathlessly,

"But Stan…you won't tell anyone, right?"

"Of course not, dude. Who do you think I am?"

"Stanley Marsh."

"Damn right. And what does that mean?"

"Uhm…loser?"

"Nice try. It means I am a Super Best Friend, which is pretty much a soul ninja."

"How does that make you a soul ninja? What does that even mean?"

"That means," Stan began, all-knowingly, "like a ninja, I sneak unseen into your soul, learn all your secrets and provide emotional security. Like a ninja, just figurative."

"Ah, I see. Where were you going with this again?"

"Pwnage."

"Pwnage?"

"Yes. Pwnage. I pwn you because I am your Super Best Friend slash Soul Ninja. And that means I'm right no matter what I say."

He felt the boy chuckle under him, "Whatever you say, Stan."

"Indeed."


	5. Wow, I Can Get Sexual Too

**Sorry for the delay, I fell ill for a while and had some troubles at home. Hope you all like the new chapter, but watch out, there's some NC-17 material in this chapter! Thank you to all reviews and adds! It's all so appreciated! **

* * *

"You know what I haven't seen in like fucking forever?"

Kyle cocked a brow, "What?"

"Dexter's Laboratory. That was the fuckin' coolest show ever."

Kenny smirked, "It was the story of Kyle's infancy."

The redhead glared jokingly, "I'm not that short."

"You're not, that's true, but you've got the curly red hair, you're a genius and you've got an annoying sibling that ruins all of your happiness." Kenny replied.

"First of all, DeeDee was a girl, and Ike isn't that annoying. Second of all…eh…uhm…huh…I guess you're right. Where were you going with this, Cartman?"

The brunette sighed, jotting something on the blank lines of his worksheet as he answered aloofly,

"Nowhere, I just miss that show. It's like…nostalgic…what about you, Kyle? What do you miss?"

Stan looked up from his textbook, scowling at Cartman.

Why did Cartman give a fuck about what Kyle missed? When did Cartman give a fuck about anything concerning Kyle? His chest was swelling with a type of frustration he couldn't categorize as his best friend answered thoughtfully,

"I…I think I miss…the feeling that…we were going to live forever."

There was a short silence until the boy continued, "I mean…when I was little…I didn't think I'd grow old or have responsibilities. Back then…I was immortal. I think that's what I miss the most."

Another quiet fell among them, thickening the room until Kyle exhaled sharply and offered,

"But I really do miss Rocco's Modern Life."

Kenny jumped up, "GAH! YES! YES! I FUCKING MISS THAT SHOW!"

The blonde continued to rant, but Stan found himself distracted with Cartman. The heavier boy was staring at Kyle, not only staring, though. There was something there, in his beady, demonic eyes. A glimmer that was admiration or marvel, some kind of hazed infatuation. It made Stan's stomach ignite with disgust and resentment. He didn't want the fat boy to stare at his best friend like that. It was as if Eric was undressing the redhead with his eyes; Stan wanted to punch that expression off his face. In fact, he wanted to kill Eric for that face. Stan thought the sudden homicidal urge was due to the fact that Kyle was gay and Stan was now concerned with who Kyle slept with, or dated or talked with. But why would Stan worry so much? Kyle could take care of himself. He was more than self-sufficient. It was none of his business. So he readjusted his visual focus to his textbook page and tried to block out the conversation that was diverting his attention with ridiculous and useless thoughts.

"Why did CPS never come for Helga in Hey Arnold?" Kenny blurted curiously.

Cartman looked to the zombie, "Why did CPS still not come for you?"

"Uhm…that's…a good question."

"Yeah."

"I'm mad hungry. I'm gonna go make a sandwich. Anyone wanna come with me?" Kyle suggested.

Stan abruptly stood, "I will, I'll go…I'm…uhm…hungry, yeah. I'll go with you."

They all gave him quizzical stares as he exited the room with Kyle and descended the staircase. The redhead walked in front of him, his pace and air having a unique aura to it; different from before, or perhaps Stan had just never taken note of it. As he stared at Kyle, everything could almost be in slow motion; his dainty hand lifted and his charming wrist curved artistically as he tucked some satin locks behind his big, but cute ears. He was glossy, almost foggy, unrealistically godlike as his frail arm descended to the railing and his dexterous fingers curled delicately as he stepped down and turned as he had on the ice; so smooth, so graceful like the single brush of a breath-taking color on a blank canvas. His eyes were low, his tangerine lashes barely shadowing the enchanting emerald of his dazzling eyes. As Stan stepped down from the stairway behind him, everything still seemed to be slowed as his best friend barely glanced back. Stan's attention was suddenly brought to Kyle's hips, which had never happened before; his lanky arms swung by his sides in a girlish kind of attitude and his waist rocked back and forth in a way that made Stan think of background music—something like Little Jackie or Diana Ross would've fit it perfectly. The boy made a full turn, his hand perched on the side of the doorway, his hip popped to one side, his smile elegant as always,

"I was thinking of making some tea, my throat's a little scratchy. You want any?"

Stan gave himself a mental slap, waking up from his dull-speeded observation as he responded in a mutter,

"N-no, that's-uhm…you know, actually, I will."

Kyle nodded, his grin widening until he looked away and turned again, "Okay."

Ever since he had come out to Stan, they were more open and it seemed to Stan that Kyle would act a bit more feminine around him. Stan liked that, though, because Kyle wouldn't show anyone else that side. He was still the get-down-and-dirty, still-have-crap-under-nails sort of guy around the others, but not Stan; whenever they had a moment together, Kyle would whip out this alternate personality and act a little more bashful, and he'd certainly smile more. That was what pleased Stan the most; finally, the guards were down. He didn't have to monitor everything he said and did and how he acted and the kinds of stories he told, he could relax and be himself. Stan certainly loved being Kyle's hero, saving him from his daily tortures and secrets. He was leaning against the wall, next to the threshold of the kitchen where Kyle had offered tea, with his arms crossed over his virile chest; the Jew turned around, his mesmerizing lips parted to pose a question Stan already knew,

"Whatever you're having."

Kyle smirked, glancing to the floor momentarily in girlish nature before looked back to the counter and nodding. Stan smiled at the boy's back; he really was cute sometimes, really like a girl sometimes. He began wondering what kind of boyfriend Kyle wanted. He wondered what kind of boy Kyle thought was cute, he wondered why Kyle was attracted to it and what had provoked it. He tried to imagine what Kyle might think an ideal boyfriend was. His brain spurted the disturbing image of Kyle beside Cartman and he expelled it with a bad taste in the back of his throat as he tried to think of someone else. Someone who would be perfect for Kyle, someone kind of like Kyle. He began painting a boy next to Kyle, he was kind of scrawny and pallid, freckled lightly with blonde hair and glasses. He looked nervous and so Stan altered the image so that he was leaning up against the counter, one foot brought up behind him and pressing against the counter-drawer; but it just looked like a dork trying to look like a badass. Stan tried to think of what he should change, and he noted that Kyle detested his own lankiness, which disappointed Stan, seeing as how perfectly his physique matched his personality. He buffed the boy up a little, made him look athletic, like a baseball player or a lacrosse player; maybe Kyle was into that sort of guy. When he looked up to that face, though, those few freckles and blonde hair with pale skin; it reminded him of Kenny.

He frowned, turning it to a brunette, but the brown hair reminded him of Cartman and another redhead would just look strange, so he turned it to jet black. He knew Kyle preferred longer hair over short, so he gave the boy his own haircut, as it reached the base of his neck and he maintained his middle-school emo-bang. He tilted his head, thinking about what the face should be built like; then he realized that Kyle was truly gay. Gay, as in he wanted to have sex with men, not women, just men. His lips pursed; he had to be good-looking then, he had to have a handsome face so he could still play 8-hour-work-day, formal tie, kisses Kyle on the cheek when he gets home to ask what's for dinner kind of husband and still make things steamy. He gave the boy a small nose, ears a bit bigger than Kyle's, since Kyle was always so consciences about them; thick brows, after all, Kyle probably wouldn't wear the pants and someone had to be manly-looking. He smirked at that thought as he added the lips; medium sized, not thin and not as full as Kyle's but pleasing, certainly. He erased the glasses and freckles; too much like Kyle. Finally, the eyes. They were important; these were the eyes that Kyle had to look into when…when…they became…intimate. He made them a deep caramel at first, but it soured Stan's stomach by reminding him of Wendy and Cartman, then changed them to a green, but Kyle's would simply out-dazzle them. He decided on a sly, all-knowing gaze of indigo.

He was pleased until his heart stopped.

It was him.

He was looking at an identical reflection of himself beside Kyle. He looked down to his feet to find he was posed in the exact position of his imaginary twin, he immediately dropped his arms and leg as his heart began to pound. His brows knit in concern, almost irritation while he wondered why. He looked up again and his eyes re-fixated on Kyle's waist. His eyes glazed and lowered as his mind thought of being…intimate…with Kyle. His mind's eye offered a snippet of an unprecedented fantasy; his head was bent back, his torso sitting up with the smaller boy's frame being held in his trained hands. Kyle's skin was silky and sweaty, reddened with fluster and he was so divine looking. His surface and complexion was still soft, exquisite and dripping; one of his arms was roped around Stan's neck, gripping to his hair while his other hand raked at his shoulder blade. His thick lips were parted to only release a wanting moan, his eyes shut tight, his brows curved pleadingly as their hips grinded together. Kyle pressed his forehead against Stan's, fogs forming between their lips, Kyle's still hanging loose and in shock as their eyes opened to each other, their irises mirroring the undying lust and hunger they both pulsated with. Stan pulled Kyle's waist down again, throwing himself further into the boy and smirking in dominating humor as the redhead's gorgeous curls were tossed back, his back arched, his fingers dug deeper into Stan's skin, his eyes shut again with brows dipping again as he squirmed and released another deep, cross of a gasp and moan.

Their eyes met again as Stan thrust deeper yet and the lustful groan left Kyle's chest again before he begged in an alto whisper, "_Stan_,"

It made Stan's heart pump faster, made him grow harder which elicited another tantalizing moan from the naked boy in his lap and again it reverberated with a greed and unbearable want, "Oh, _Stan_, **Stan**,"

"Stan?"

The athlete snapped his red face back to the freckled teen; he looked concerned.

"Uhm…Stan?"

"Y-y-yeah? W-what, sorry, I w-was uhm…a little z-zoned out…"

Kyle tilted his head in an adorable fashion, "Uhm, yeah, I noticed. You've been acting weird today, are you okay?"

"Y-yeah, p-p-p-perfectly fine, really, I swear, i-it's nothing." Stan responded nervously.

Kyle nodded, "Okay, well…your sandwich is ready…are you sure you can go back up now?"

He shook his head up and down vigorously, "Y-yeah, definitely, I'm fine, really, really, I'm fine."

"Well…okay." Kyle shrugged, handing him his plate and walking past.

Stan's eyes followed the god again, watching his bottom half sway as he turned back up the stairs and Stan thought to himself something bizarre, but not unwelcomed as Stan was so secure in his heterosexuality despite his momentary slip,

_Sex with Kyle would be…really hot…_


	6. The Simple Bare Necessities

**Sorry for the delay! I've been glomped by work, reports and illness. D:**

**Anyway, I'll update much quicker, I promise! Hope you like the new chapter!**

**Thank you to all reviews, PMs, adds and fanart!!!**

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Stan was staring at the redhead as he jotted notes, so woebegone. The poor boy, he hated when Mrs. Barnes sent for a substitute. His heart bumped up against his chest as he remembered what he had thought of two days prior; being so close to Kyle, doing something so close with Kyle…he couldn't stop thinking about it. Stan glanced behind him and two seats away was Kenny, passing two notes to two different girls; considering the expressions on the girls, the folded little papers concealed some flirtatious and appealing offer. They both started giggling and Stan just shook his head and looked back to his Super Best Friend. His eyes settled on the boy's gentle hands, positioned in his binder to simply slip the middle rings through loose-leaf. His eyes lowered and fogged with an image melting back into his vision, as Kyle shut the rings and patiently pressed his digits down the margin to flatten it in fashion with the other ironed papers, Stan replaced the paper with himself. Kyle's slender fingers slid down his chest, fanning out above his abdomen to admire the hardened and sports-carved appearance as Stan's more masculine hands took hold of Kyle's jaw, leaning down and kissing his neck. Kyle's head slowly leaned back, giving his best friend more opening in the crook of his neck before he murmured,

_"__Stan____…"_

Stan pulled back to look the redhead in the eyes, his gorgeous, ivy eyes; Kyle's bedroom eyes tantalized, wooed the daydream Stan as he whimpered again,

_"Stan…"_ His hands curled around Stan's sides as he shifted onto his toes a little, bringing his face closer, _"…kiss me…"_

Just as the daydream was taking a steamed turn something shocked Stan in his pants. Unfortunately, it was not something that was about to calm his current tension. He reached in his pocket, pulling out his cell phone that still vibrated.

**Text Received at: 12:56 P.M.**

**From: Pimp Daddy K. Shmoove**

**I fricking hate substitutes. W T F is Mrs. Barnes?**

Stan snorted in a laugh to himself; he truly knew Kyle too well. He smiled replying,

**Text Received at: 12:57 P.M.**

**From: Dr. S. T. Slim**

**I know dude but didn't u say shes getting a divorce? Maybe she had papers or something to do today**

He watched the boy pout childishly,

**Text Received at: 12:58 P.M.**

**From: Pimp Daddy K. Shmoove**

**That's retarded. She should be here, grading my syntax paper.**

As Stan was in the middle of typing back the bell rang and he shut his phone, cancelling the message and walked over to his friend. Kyle still seemed in a pouty mood, so Stan reminded,

"Well, you know, dude, at least it's ninth period now and then we can go home soon."

Kyle sighed, "Yeah, I know, I've just been really depressed lately."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Sorry if I'm a total buzz-kill."

Stan grinned, pushing Kyle's shoulder, "Don't be retarded, you are my buzz."

They stared at each other a long while, Stan allowing his words to actually sink in as it seemed Kyle thought on them. Stan felt a nervous, hot lump growing in his throat, so he swallowed anxiously and looked away, rubbing the back of his head as he commented,

"Well, uh, you wanna go, like, take out a movie or something tonight? We could crash at my house; Shelly's staying on campus in her suite for the weekend and my parents are visiting my aunt and uncle in California. They'll be gone for like two weeks, so you and me could totally cut some school together and chill."

He felt a tickling warmth in his stomach, a good one, that actually tickled enough that he was beaming stupidly as Kyle's lips slowly curved into his perfect smile. His abnormally straight, white teeth almost dulling the vibrant tangerine of his curls as he replied,

"Yeah. That sounds cool. You know what's cool about having you as a friend?"

Stan flustered a little, "What?"

Kyle and him were walking towards the doorway and into the flooded hallway as he finished,

"I can totally monopolize you without you thinking I'm clingy."

Stan's smile grew; what ecstasy his simple, friendly, quiet life was. He had the most incredible best friend the world had to offer, liberal parents, he was quarterback of the best school football team in Colorado and he could hardly ignore himself when he passed a mirror. Finally, South Park wasn't a complete nightmare. He ruffled the boy's satin hair, telling him,

"You're not clingy, dude. You're…you're like…"

They made it to Kyle's classroom and the boy was staring at Stan expectantly as he searched for the right word. Of course, though, it was girly. Kyle was girly.

"You're just cute."

The bell rang, interrupting anything either boy would have said in response to the comment; Stan turned around, red creeping onto his handsome countenance. He flicked his bang from his face, but it fell back into place as he waved to Kyle and announced, "I'll meet you out by the field later."

"K-kay…" Kyle muttered to himself as Stan ran off to his classroom.

Kyle breathed out slowly, his heart thumping as his eyes glistened with a romantic daze. His blood tingled like poprocks going off in his veins, making his toes curl in his shoes as he turned back into the room and took his seat. The whole while he stared at the chalkboard and took notes, but he didn't pay any attention and didn't even hear the teacher talking. He was in a flighty mood; he had started the morning off so gloomy, but seeing Stan and getting Stan to squeeze out those few and precious compliments made his mind cloud with rainbows and butterflies. Maybe not those things specifically, but he got the same warm and fuzzy feeling from it all. Whenever Stan complimented him, his whole body would react in a way, it would reply to all that Stan was and said and thought; it was kind of the feeling he got when he watched the Grinch's heart begin to grow. Soon enough the period was closing in on its end when over the loudspeaker the principle's voice rang,

"Is Kyle Broflovski in class?"

The balding man turned towards the box above the doorway, answering,

"Yes, he's here."

"Please send him to room one-hundred."

Some of the more immature classmates made ominous sounds to make him nervous, but Kyle was a straight-A student with astonishing extracurricular activities and a strong sense of responsibility; there was no way he was being sent to the Dean's office for anything bad. There was just no way, he was too good of a kid. He was walking down the halls, his mind beginning to bubble with possible scenarios in which the Dean's punishment sentence would be death for an offense he couldn't have been involved with. He finally made it to the notorious door of room one-hundred; the numbers might as well have been written in blood. He turned the knob and entered to see the Dean and three other supervisors. A woman in a purple suit turned to him; she was heavy, had fur around her collar and big curled hair. She smiled pleasantly,

"Mr. Broflovski, is it?"

"Yes, ma'am, I'm sorry, but I don't know who you are."

She chuckled, "That's fine, I work for the state. My name is Carol Lucarelli and I've come to meet with you."

Kyle's brow cocked, "Me? Why's that? I've never committed a felony, nothing on my record, I swear!"

She laughed again, "Oh, dear lord, no! You see a teacher of yours requested an outside relationship."

"Sorry?" Kyle ventured.

She took on a bit of a more serious tone, her countenance still cheery, though.

"Your teacher, Bernadette Barnes, acknowledged that a personal relationship with you would be out of bounds and she would be fired if authorities were notified. She sent some letters and reports and I have supervised her every action since I first heard from her. She is convinced that you are a prodigy and she wants to be working alongside you in the future. For that, though, she needs a closer relationship. We came to make sure that it was okay with you."

Kyle looked to all of the suited higher-ups, settled on the woman, Carol Lucarelli and nodded,

"Yes, yes, of course. I'm fine with that."

One of the men stepped forward, he was in a beige suit with a light blue tie and he was very young with a full head of thick, slicked back, blonde hair. He set out his hand and shook Kyle's, announcing,

"Wonderful, Mr. Broflovski. We'll be speaking with your parents about it and we'd like to see what progress is made. If you really turn out to be the prodigy Bernadette has been raving about, you will have quite a life ahead of you, Mr. Broflovski."

Kyle blushed, a grin spreading across his gorgeous face, "W-wow, really? She's really been calling me a prodigy?"

"She's ecstatic about you. She's got some papers for you and your parents or guardian to sign and make sure you're okay with. I'll give you her phone number so you can give her a visit and work out some things. She knows what she's doing, Mr. Broflovski. She's got doctors, neurologists and the works dying to test you and poke around all that intellect. We're really looking forward to working with you."

Kyle nodded again, he imagined he must have looked like a pre-pubescent fangirl being greeted by the Jonas Brothers.

"A-and you too! The same to you, to all of you, thank you so much!"

They all smiled, shook his hand slowly departed from the room. Kyle was escorted back to class by the Dean and soon after the bell rang. Kyle was, needless to say, thrilled with his encounter. As the freckled teen walked out of the classroom, he sighed and thought to himself, what a wonderful little life he had in South Park. Everything used to be so crazy, and occasionally it was. But he was intelligent, he had the best Super Best Friend anyone in the world could ask for, he was eligible for the life style of Thomas Edison 2.0 and couldn't wipe the stupid grin from his face. He was oozing with inspiration, adoration and motivation and his heart swelled with contentment; what was funny, though, was that although he looked forward to seeing Bernadette in a new light, although he looked forward to all the interesting things he would learn about the world and himself in the near future and although he was overwhelmed by pride and recognition he really couldn't help but know deep down that nothing made him happier than the thought of walking the mile to Stan's house, collapsing on his bed and simply being in his presence.

Kyle reached into his pocket, pulling out his cellphone and biting his bottom lip.

Stan was at his locker, watching Wendy and her entourage walk by when he felt the tremor in his pocket and reached in to retrieve the message.

**Text Received At: 2:17 P.M.**

**From: Pimp Daddy K. Shmoove**

**You won't believe what just fucking happened to me.**


	7. Zak and Sara

**See! I told you I'd update soon! Hope you all like the new chapter! I'll be back soon with another! Thank you to all readers, reviewers and adders!!**

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Stan was waiting in the field, anxious to see Kyle and find out what it was he was so excited over. Stan didn't care to reply to text messages when he was outside of school; there was no danger in that. Stan was one to do things only when it was conveniently inappropriate. He knew Kyle wouldn't mind, though, because, frankly, Kyle forgave him for everything. Not only that, but they met in the middle of the football field every single day directly after school, so there was really no point in replying by phone as they would see each other in person only minutes later. He turned to his right slightly to see Kyle at the gate entering the field, he dropped his bag and to Stan's surprise, came charging. It was so out of character for him and so uncalled for, that Stan couldn't find the sense to move and it resulted in a lovely collision; Kyle going at thirty, maybe forty miles per second. The redhead was hanging from him, his legs around Stan's waist and arms wrapped around his face, holding him to his pounding chest as he laughed childishly. It wasn't long before Stan lost his balance and fell onto his back with a groan; the snow on the ground sizzling at the heat of his face when he turned his cheek to look at Kyle. He was still laughing, but choked out,

"W-what the fuck, dude? You were s-supposed to c-catch me!"

Stan smirked, leaning over and lifting Kyle's shirt and jacket to reveal his tiny waist; he slid his hands underneath and allowed his fingers to dance along his weakest muscles, forcing the helpless boy to shriek in laughter. Now, a Tickle Fight wasn't entirely manly, no, not exactly, but that was something special between Stan and Kyle. And it was something that all of South Park had grown to know and appreciate, even admire. Stan and Kyle were always gentle with each other, always honest and never insulted each other unless they really meant it. Stan would "horse around" and play "rough" with his football friends and he saved his more considerate, his more tender, his softer side for Kyle. Never insulted, never angry and never misunderstood; even their parents wanted their relationship. As the fight escalated Kyle's legs started thrashing, his head bent back with his face glowing crimson; Stan resolved to straddle him to calm his kicking and fought off, as best he could, Kyle's dexterous and defensive hands.

Kyle's left hand grabbed to Stan's thigh and squeezed like a ring, hitting Stan's most vulnerable tickle-spot; while Kyle was in the eye of the storm he switched positions and dominated the situation. He attacked under Stan's arms, by his neck, under his knees and his stomach. Stan, although he was not as agile and fast as Kyle, was stronger. It wasn't long before Stan reclaimed his crown and tortured his best friend; his satin curls were revealed, his hat having rolled off ten feet away where their battle began. Tears were forming in his eyes, his smile was as wide as Stan had ever seen it and his face seemed even more beautiful from last he saw it, an hour before. Behind a fog of laughter Kyle managed to beg,

"S-Stan! S-S-Stan! Stan! St-St-Stop! P-P-Please! Stan!"

He did not pull back his attack, but slowed a little…

_"Stan…"_

"Stan!" He cried, his back arching.

Stan's hands pulled from his sides, across his stomach and met by his bellybutton. Stan watched him slowly calm down, heaving to catch his breath…

_"…kiss me." _

Stan's eyes lowered, his breath catching up with him as he lowered himself very gradually. His fingers spread across the boy's abdomen, his own legs stretching a little further over Kyle's waist as he neared closer and closer. He was not a centimeter from the boy's lips when his shock-green eyes opened to him and stared in bewilderment. Stan snapped out of his daze, more or less dropping his head onto Kyle's. The freckled boy cleared his throat,

"What are you doing, Stan?"

"I was…" He looked to Kyle; their foreheads resting together, their hair mixing and breath-clouds colliding and wrapping around each other…

"You were…?"

"Checking…for a fever."

"Why?"

"Your face is all red."

Kyle laughed, "That's because you took no mercy on me, asshole."

Stan sat up straight, shaking off the strange sensations crawling up and down his body,

"You don't deserve any. What the fuck are you so happy about?"

Kyle was beaming; he always glowed when he was excited, that smile was one in a million.

"State Supervisors came to see me, Mrs. Barnes has been talking about me to all these high-up people and told them she thinks I have potential to be…a, well, to be a prodigy. She thinks I'm a genius. They want to test me and…well, I'm not sure what they want to do, but they said that if it turns out I am, my future is gonna…shit, Stan, my life is gonna be fuckin' taken care of!"

Stan chuckled as Kyle leaned up on his elbows,

"That's what you're so freaked up over?"

"Stan, don't you understand?" Kyle grabbed Stan's collar, initiating tickling pink to fill Stan's cheeks as he closed in tightly and insisted, "Stan, this means all those nights I gave up parties and hanging out with friends to study, all those perfect hundreds and straight A's and AP classes, it means it was all really worth it! It means my hard work can take me away now!"

Stan frowned, "Take you away? You want to leave?"

"Are you fucking kidding me, Stan!? Of course I wanna get out of South Park! I promised myself I wouldn't live here the rest of my fucking life! Of course I wanna leave!"

"And me?" Stan interrogated.

Kyle backed away a little, loosening his hold on Stan's shirt, "What about you?"

"You'd be okay with just…leaving? I mean, I'd be all alone without you, dude."

The redhead grinned, shaking his head before he responded softly, "You idiot, I'd take you with me, of course."

Stan's eyes widened, "What?"

"Of course, Stan. I'd never leave you alone here. Stan, I promised that when you fell, I fell with you. That doesn't mean that when I rise you stay down. You come up with me. Wherever they take me or send me to, you're coming with me."

Stan blushed, dropping eye-contact momentarily before inquiring, "What if they say I can't go?"

"Then I'm not going anywhere."

Stan looked back at the boy wrapped up in him, "Really?"

"Really."

"Shit, Kye…"

"What?"

"You're just fucking amazing."

Kyle laughed, "Well, I'm not an AVERAGE best friend, am I?"

Stan shook his head, a grin spreading on his face, "No, you're not."

"Go on, tell me what I am."

Stan laughed, "A Super Best Friend."

"Exactly, and what does that make me?"

Dumbfounded at first, Stan was hesitant to answer. The correct response, however, did find him,

"A Soul Ninja."

"Which means?" Kyle pressed.

"You're right no matter what you say."

Kyle patted Stan's head, "Exactly."

They chuckled together; their breathes meshing between their inch of separation. Like some kind of spell, they both calmed at exactly the same moment and found their reflections in the other's gaze. Kyle was bolted in his position, unable to do anything but cherish his friend's proximity and gorgeous stare. Stan opened his mouth, unsure of what was going to come out, but that responsibility was taken off of his shoulders when a familiar blonde's voice called out from down the field,

"Looks like you two are getting along!"

Stan scrambled off of Kyle, brushing himself off as his heart rate tried to reset. Kenny approached the two, now standing and interviewed,

"Sorry, did I interrupt something?"

"No." Stan growled.

Kenny put his hands up in surrender, "Alright, don't bite my head off. You guys going to Cartman's party tonight?"

Stan smirked, "Yeah, I was invited and I told him I'd show up with the whole football team to glorify his miniscule talent in football to all the hot girls. He wanted us to tell them that he was an amazing athlete, but it was too violent of a sport and he found Jesus instead or some crap. I'm not going."

Kenny nodded, "Yeah. You, Kyle?"

The freckled boy sighed, "You know how it is, Cartman doesn't invite me anywhere. Much less in his house. Imagine I stepped in and breathed his air? His stupid, fat lungs need it more than me."

The blonde made a disturbed expression, "Your hatred is always so palpable."

"Good, hopefully he'll choke on it."

Kenny laughed, "Ow, okay, can I steal Stan for a minute?"

"Yeah, sure."

Stan walked a few feet away with Kenny's arm wrapped over his shoulder as Kyle went in the opposite direction to retrieve his hat and get his bag by the gate. Kenny had a devious countenance,

"I'm here to pass a message onto you, Stan."

"From?"

"Wendy."

The world stopped.

Stan's brows pressed, "Y-yeah? What did she say?"

"She says she wants you to meet her after school on Monday. In room two-oh-three."

Stan looked incredulously at the blonde, "R-really? She wants to meet with me? She told you to tell me she wanted to meet with me?"

"Yeah, retard. Just don't forget. Straight after school, Monday, room two-oh-three. Be there. She's not popular for being forgiving or giving second chances."

"Yeah? What's she popular for?"

Kenny thought for a moment, then answered, "For giving the entire Debate Team herpes."

"Ew."

Kenny nodded, "Yeah. Well, you don't get famous being cute. You get famous by giving head, getting naked and having money. Money gets you the power over the brains of the people and the sex gets you the bodies of the people; it's how everyone does it."

"That's horrifying."

"You say everything I say is horrifying."

"That's because everything you say is horrifying."

Kenny shrugged, dropping his arm and tucking it under his backpack strap, "Whatever. I've got a date, so I'll talk to you later."

With that he turned and left, waving to Kyle before departing completely. Once he vanished from view, Stan turned to look at Kyle. He had his hat back on, his clothes realigned and his bag sitting on his waist. He smiled,

"Can I know?"

_"Yeah, but I wouldn't tell Kyle, kay?"_

Stan's hands suddenly felt twitchy and restless, "Uhm…it was just something stupid, you don't care, trust me."

The redhead dipped his face to one side, "What? What is it? Why can't I know?"

"No, it's not that you can't, it's just that you wouldn't care about it. Kenny just…wanted the homework to copy on Sunday. That's all."

"Oh." Kyle stated.

"Yeah, you see? I told you it was stupid."

"Well…okay. You wanna head to your house now?"

Stan hummed in agreement, and when conversation picked up again, his worries washed away. The lulling tranquility that Kyle's smooth voice provided always calmed him; like the waves of the ocean crashing onto the Earth with such serenity, the way nature's course could calm the human heart to such a state of lucidity…that was the effect of Kyle's silk voice. He would say anything to keep Kyle talking to him, and life was wonderful because he knew Kyle would never leave. He could forever listen to Kyle talk and remain in that profound placidity that kept his world together. Because Kyle would never allow Stan to find himself alone; that was certain. They were both mature enough to know they didn't need to insult each other unless they meant what they said, they were both honest and loyal enough to know they didn't need to lie or hide from each other and they were both caring enough to know they didn't need to wrestle and fight to show weird, masculine fondness. That would be all the necessities of an average friendship, and Stan and Kyle's was anything but.


	8. Twisted Logic

**Sorry for the wait, I've just been so busy. Thank you to all adds and reviews so far! It's all cherished beyond belief! Hope you like your latest installment! **

* * *

On the way to Stan's house Kyle confessed that he had put off writing a very demanding and significant paper for his American Government class. He insisted that Stan not come to pick him up and to be patient and wait until the next day to hang out. The football star was not feeling empathetic, though and decided to ignore Kyle's heeding and planned to secretly get him later. Stan and him split a few blocks from Stan's house; he took a different route and ended up walking by Cartman's house. He found himself slowing down and eventually coming to a complete stop by the front yard. He crossed his arms over his virile chest and glared…

How dare he stare at Kyle like that. Undressing him with his pudgy, dirty goddamn eyes. What a fucking asshole. To think a fat ass like him is fantasizing about Kyle, **my** Kyle!

He blushed…

_Well…Kyle's not mine …but…he's my friend, my Super Best Friend. That counts. _

Stan started walking again, assuring himself that no one could read his mind, thus he was free of any actual embarrassment. Knowing, himself, though, that he had that strange phrase pop into his mind uncalled for haunted him. There was no room for cross-outs in his mind. He got to his house and wasted time, flipping through channels and daydreaming on the couch, occasionally having a rational and coherent thought about what Wendy may want to talk to him about after school that upcoming Monday. He texted Kenny, asking him to repeat the time and place he was supposed to meet Wendy, but the blonde didn't reply. He let a few hours pass, then ran up to his room to get his jacket, resolving to force Kyle out of his house.

___

* * *

_

Kyle was home alone that afternoon and finished his paper relatively early. He did not call Stan right away, though. He knew Stan was home, possibly making outside plans with Kenny or Eric. He descended the staircase into his living room, nearly passing the bookcase beside the threshold to his kitchen. He paused, settling his gaze on the bottom shelf that contained several photo albums. He noted to himself that he had never actually looked through them and a strange curiosity took over him. He bent down, picking the thickest one up; it was crème colored with lace criss-crossing over the spine. He sat down in front of the fire place and opened it up; there were no photos of him or Ike, however. There were only those of his parents and their wedding day. He smiled, looking at his mother when she had such a model's figure, long, thick hair and a young, girlish face. Her dress looked beautiful on her; Kyle recalled having seen it in the basement before. She was saving it for a daughter she thought she'd have. Kyle looked down at that, setting the photos aside as he let the idea sink in; he wondered if his mother regretted having him. Oh, and what a regret it would become if she found out his sexual displacement.

He sighed; if only he had been born a girl. A girl that would grow to be pretty and strong like his mother. A girl wouldn't be as weak as he felt and a girl would be more level-headed than to crush on their best friend. In truth, he was terribly confused. He didn't know if he wanted to be a girl, or he just wanted to be treated like a girl or was only curious to how girls functioned---he was lost. And who could help him? Certainly not his mother, certainly not his father, certainly not his Rabbi. He rose from his seat, turning into the kitchen and descending another staircase into the basement. He walked to the back of the frigid cellar until he found a back closet; he opened it to find his sister's prom dress, his father's tuxedo and his mother's wedding gown.

___

* * *

_

Stan was approaching the house, watching his breath form into fog before his face. He wondered if he was pitiful for not having the ability to last more than a few hours without Kyle. He brushed it off and walked up the cement walk-way to Kyle's front door, well aware that the key was under the Welcome Mat. He unlocked the door and slithered through, a smirk growing on his face at his ninja-like grace. He could hardly contain his laughter when he pictured Kyle's shock at him being in the house.

___

* * *

_

Kyle had spent a good twenty minutes staring at himself in the full-length mirror, wondering if white and pearl flattered him. He collapsed onto the carpeted floor, the lace, chiffon and tulle puffing up around him as if he were sitting on a cloud. He had taken the courtesy of borrowing his mother's wedding jewelry as well, finishing the beautiful, satin appearance. He loved the dress; anyone would, straight or not. It was a fairly simple dress; no elaborate or complex designs trailing down the gown, no diamonds imbedded in the spaghetti straps, nothing ridiculous. The simplicity, though, made it elegant and sophisticated, especially with the pearls and lace. He sighed,

_If only I was a girl…then it would be okay to like him. _

His eyes lowered, gazing at his dainty hands in his lap…

_If only…I was a girl…_

His fingers crawled into his palms, his brows tightening…

_I could be…someone he could maybe love…_

Kyle imagined being a girl; his figure was tiny, feminine and his lashes were long and a little more curled. His hair reached his mid-back, his legs were tall and curvy and his chest was big; just like his mother's. His chin was rounded, his jaw was dulled; a girl's face. She was beautiful. She was in a light green skirt and an orange long-sleeve turtle-neck, matching argyle knee-high socks with two dark green ribbons in her hair. She was suddenly engulfed by strong arms, then a familiar face appeared on her shoulder, kissing her cheek; she turned around, smiling majestically as she wrapped her arms around his neck, getting on her toes to kiss him. He left his fantasy, opening his eyes as his hands released their grip.

_If I was a girl…I could make him happy…_

At that, the door abruptly opened, nearly stopping Kyle's heart in its practiced routine.

"St-Stan?! What the fuck are you doing!?"

The athlete's handsome face was filled with blood, stammering, "U-Uhm…I could ask you the same question…"

Kyle looked away, his knees brought up to his chest,

"I…told you I couldn't hang out today."

"I know, but I didn't care."

Kyle scoffed, "You're so stupid."

Stan stepped into the room, closing the door behind him, "You're just saying that cause I caught you doing something you didn't want me to catch you doing."

The redhead pouted, still unable to look at his friend, "You're a jerk for not knocking."

The corner of Stan's lips tugged, "Then I'm sorry. Okay?"

"Is it…messed up?"

"What?" Stan responded, venturing closer…

"Me…dressing up like this?"

Stan sat down next to the boy, exhaling deeply before replying,

"Well…I didn't see it coming, but it's not messed up. I'd never think that about you."

Kyle nodded slowly, his lips pursing, "Thanks."

"You actually…" Stan gulped inaudibly, tingling pinching at his stomach, "…look really pretty."

His satin curls bobbed as he sharply turned his face to Stan; the artistic alignment of his muscles and the poetic shine of his skin accented the pearl necklace he wore angelically. His freckles were layered with an endearing shade of pink, his ears a bit red too…

"Pretty? You think I look pretty like this?"

"Yeah."

"…pretty?"

Stan chuckled nervously, "Yeah…it's not like…it's not like I can say handsome, cause it isn't made for guys and I figured calling you beautiful would freak you out. It's what I meant, though."

Kyle simpered, glancing to the mirror momentarily before looking back to Stan from beneath his lashes and stating shyly,

"That wouldn't freak me out."

Stan flustered, looking away from the enchanting, jade gaze of his childhood friend as he told him,

"Then I think you look beautiful."

"Thank you…"

Stan turned back around, facing Kyle as he stammered, "W-well, I always think you're beautiful, I mean, you always are beautiful, even when you don't try or anything…"

Kyle and Stan both visibly blushed; furiously. The freckled teen took the responsibility of sparking conversation again by filling the silent room with,

"Thank you, Stan…that's…really…uhm…flattering."

"Kye…"

"Yeah?"

Stan raised his hand a little, tilting his head slightly as he finished, "Can I…can I touch you?"

Kyle's heart skipped a beat, heating his face further until he nodded twice, nearly whispering, "Y-yeah…"

Stan hesitantly allowed his hand to cup Kyle's cheek, running his thumb over the rose-coated, velvety complexion; the same rhythm he had used when they walked to go ice-skating. Stan noted to himself that he should take classes on impulse-control.

"Stan…"

His azure stare was bolted to Kyle's lips, though; those thick, enticing, gorgeous, silk lips…

_"Stan…"_

He ran his thumb over Kyle's bottom lip…

"Kye…"

"Stan?"

_"…kiss me."_

Stan's lids felt heavy as his proximity tightened against the glowing, divine boy beside him; his palm held to Kyle's chin, bringing him closer. Kyle's eyes were gradually closing in sync, his heart pounding in his ears until an abrupt buzzing noise frightened them both. Stan snapped away, reaching into his pocket to his vibrating cell phone,

**Text Received at: 7:24 P.M.**

**From: Trick Daddy Kenny Mactastic **

**Sry didn't get ur text til now ur in rm 203 rite aftr scool **

Stan glared at the device, shutting it and shoving it down his pocket again. He looked to the redheaded angel, his aura and countenance even more breath-taking than usual, adorned in such precious things. He stood up, announcing, "Well…uhm…I guess I'll leave you to get dressed and…you'll meet me downstairs."

Kyle nodded fervently, not making eye-contact; Stan bit his bottom lip, feeling a headache coming on as he left the room. He descended the stairs, recalling the fascination he had to Kyle's graceful waltz down the very same staircase less than a week prior…

_What is going on with me?_


	9. The Last On My List

**Merry Christmas everyone! My Super-Awesome-Totally-Cool gift is to update every fanfic I have on-going on the same day so everyone gets something to read! Hope you like your new chapter! Have a Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukah! **

**(Warning: It's kind of sad, this one. XP Sorry, guys)**

* * *

After a very threatening phone call from his mother Saturday morning, Kyle returned home to clean his room as she ordered. She did not notice the dress having been removed from its assigned closet as she never went snooping around Kyle's room; much less under his bed. He was folding pants when the phone rang; he dropped them half-made on his bed and picked up the device from its hook, greeting,

"Hello?"

"Hey there, Broflovski."

Kyle blushed, his heart skipping a beat, "B-Bernadette! How are you? Are you feeling well? Why weren't you in Friday? Is everything okay at home? Does it have to do with your ex-husband? Will you be back Monday? OH! That reminds me! I heard from those people and they talked to me and told me about what you said about me and now they-"

She laughed, interrupting, "I know, Broflovski, I sent them. Ha, don't worry about me, okay? I'm fine. I'll be back as soon as I can. I was wondering if you could drop by today, I wanted to talk to you."

He nodded furiously until he realized she could not see him and responded giddily, "O-oh, y-yeah! Yeah, that's perfect, that's great, good, yeah, I can come by!"

She chuckled again, "Alright, I live on Turn Drive, address one-thousand and one. It's a big house, very hard to miss."

Kyle smiled, nodding again, "Alright, I'll be there soon!"

"Alright then, see you soon."

They hung up and Kyle raced down the stairs, exclaiming to his mother, "Mom, I've got to go see Mrs. Barnes, kay?"

He had informed her over the phone of his encounter with all the supervisors; she was very proud and in a very good mood with him besides her death threat if he didn't finish his laundry. She called back something incoherent but agreeing all the same. Kyle tossed on his coat and hat and sprinted out the door. His smile spread on his face; how he admired Mrs. Bernadette Barnes.

_To think! I'm running over to see Mrs. Barnes! No—Bernadette! Ha! This is too surreal!_

He turned down a few corners and eventually find himself on Turn Drive, breathing the sharp cold air with contentment that only a night over Stan's followed by Mrs. Barnes' voice could bring him. He counted down the numbers until he came across a very large mansion-like, towering home. It was a light yellow shade with white shutters, a white porch that led to a white door with a golden knob. The address read one-thousand and one. He was fighting to catch his breath, checking his watch and seeing that it had taken him fifteen minutes to run from his house to hers. He laughed to himself and lifted the door-knocker allowing it to fall twice against the grand entrance. His dexterous hands twitched in his pockets until the door opened and his anxious eyes were met with the expectant hazel of Bernadette's gaze. She simpered warmly,

"How've you been, Broflovski?"

He grinned stupidly, "Great, really, wonderful. How-uhm-how have you been?"

Her smile weakened a little, shrugging, "I've been better. Come on in, I just put up tea."

Kyle stomped off the snow from his boots onto her welcome mat, removing them soon after and followed her through a marble dining room, past a spiral staircase and into a gigantic kitchen filled with silver, shiny kitchenware and funky, coffee lounge-esque furniture. He looked around in wonderment, ogling all of her cool cooking gadgets and gizmos. It was outrageously cool, but Kyle noted the echo his footsteps created. It echoed more than a thump; he could hear Bernadette crying in her room, he could hear her screaming at a faceless man in the living room before he storms out the front door, he could hear the whistling of the teapot. He could feel her loneliness. She handed him a mug the size of a cereal bowl steaming with a sweet smell. It felt good against his frigid grasp as he followed her through the kitchen, down a narrow hall and into her very white living room. There was a brick-covered fireplace active and crackling, there was a huge plasma screen television taking up a good percentage of one wall adjacent to the fireplace, there was a white, plastic-looking coffee table between two white, leather couches and a shimmering chandelier hanging from the high ceiling. Beside both ends the couches were smaller, rounder versions of the table in the middle of the room and everything was planted on a crème colored carpet, matching the surrounding walls. There was a cabinet under the television with glass doors, revealing a cable box, a DVD player with a VHS player, an Xbox and piles of videos and DVDs. Kyle looked to the older woman, inquiring conversationally,

"You play Xbox?"

She smirked, "He left it here."

"You said he graduated from Harvard law…and he plays Xbox?"

She bent down a little, blowing on the grey rising from her mug before stating,

"Well, not wherever he is now."

Kyle silenced himself, beginning to feel uncomfortable; he mimicked her actions before interviewing,

"Was there something you wanted to talk to me about?"

She looked up at him, silent for a moment before asking politely, "Do you want me to take your coat?"

He looked to his shoulder, as if just noticing he had a jacket; he nodded as she rose and took it, hanging it up on the golden coat rack beside the front door. She came back to her seat, her legs curling beside her like a cat. Her back and the back of the couch she sat on faced the three-sectioned window that let in wonderful rays of light from the setting sun that colored her hair streaks of magenta, red and black in some spots. It gave her soft, feminine features the looks of a ghostly portrait and Kyle was nearly frightened that she might vanish right before him. Kyle's brows curved worriedly as he lowered his mug more into his thighs,

"Bernadette…was there something you wanted to talk to me about?"

She wasn't looking at him, her eyes low and looking only at her boiled drink,

"It just gets lonely here. I needed some friendly company."

Kyle's chest felt strangely tight when she said that; he wondered why he was so helpless when it came to Bernadette Barnes. He wondered why he couldn't help at all.

"When's your birthday, Broflovski?"

He sipped at his steaming tea, regretting it immediately; he burnt his tongue.

"June third."

"You'll be sixteen, won't you?"

He nodded, "Yeah. I'm not doing anything special, though."

"Yeah? Why not?"

"Dunno. My parents hardly have the money or patience for an 'event'. I'll probably just end up hanging out with Stan." He answered.

The teacher smiled slowly, "You're always around him."

Kyle flustered slightly, "Really? Am I?"

She chuckled, "Yeah. It's cute, though. It's good to have a friend."

The redhead sighed, "Bernadette…I'm your student."

She looked up at him quizzically as he continued, "Bernadette…don't you have family? Don't you have friends? Are you really so…alone that you had to call _me_?"

Her eyes slowly descended, her lashes shadowing her glassy vision,

"Brandon was all I had left. Parents are dead, friends drifted away or died. Plus," She looked back up at him, "I find you much easier to talk to."

Kyle sat back, blowing on his steam again as he watched her rise from her seat, disappear into the kitchen, then return. She sat down, curling up like a cat again before carefully placing a white tablet on her tongue then taking a gulp of her drink. Kyle looked curiously at her,

"What was that?"

"An anti-depressant."

"My parents are on them too."

"The world is on them, Broflovski. If we weren't there'd be a lot more bloodshed."

Kyle wanted to laugh, but that would be too bizarre. He watched her blank expression stare at the table as she questioned after allowing a moment of silence to pass,

"Is it too early to break out the vodka?"

"It's three in the afternoon."

She sighed in disappointment, "Yeah, I guess you're right."

Kyle's brows curved; he placed his mug down on the coffee table, stood and walked over to her. He sat down beside her, into the space between her legs and the back-rest of the couch. He leaned his head onto her shoulder, his fiery curls fall over each other and sliding against her own silky slides of auburn. He rested his cheek against her collarbone and the crook of her neck, breathing her flowery scent and wondering why Brandon Barnes would ever want to smell another fragrance in his life other than that of the beautiful Bernadette Barnes. Her skin was warm and soft, kind of sparkly too, or it may have been the glass windows and light playing gold cords on the ivory of her complexion. He exhaled deeply, his heart pounding as he told her,

"You can call me any time, Bernadette."

He heard a slight scratch in her voice as she leaned her face against his locks of marmalade and responded quietly,

"Thank you."


	10. Stuttering

**Sorry for the delay, folks. Tragedy at home recently and I haven't gotten to work on anything. Hope it was worth the wait. Thank you to all adds, favorites and reviews so far!**

* * *

"Happy Birthday, dude,"

The blonde blushed furiously, launching himself onto the redhead in unrestrained glee,

"YOU REMEMBERED!"

Kenny was spinning the scrawny Jew into a seemingly unending spiral, his face red and brimming with happiness. Kyle held to the taller boy's forearms as they spun uncontrollably, replying,

"Y-yeah, of course I remembered! Calm down, dude!"

Kenny pulled away, holding Kyle by his shoulders as his head spun for a few moments and Kenny ranted,

"Not even my parents remembered this morning! You're the first one to remember!"

Kyle frowned, regaining his normal grace as he backed away, straightening his disheveled collared shirt; he looked to Kenny from beneath his lashes,

"Oh, uhm…I'm sorry, dude…aren't you having a party after school?"

Kenny's smile turned a bit more innocent, "Yeah…you know, I thought you'd be the one to remember,"

Kyle stiffened, "Why?"

Kenny's fluster filled up his ears as he tucked his hands into his jean pockets, rocking nervously back and forth on his heels, some of his blonde hairs falling over his face as he responded cutely,

"You're the nicest, you know? I just…I just knew it'd be you,"

Kyle blushed a little more too at Kenny's unusually endearing behavior. Kyle then remembered his mother's wedding dress. That wedding dress did not belong to him. If it meant being alone the rest of his life, he would not have a gay relationship. Because he was not born to wear a dress.

"What's up, cocksuckers?" Cartman interjected.

Stan came up with Cartman from behind, nodding at the two. Stan's concentration drifted to Kyle's physique; a white collared shirt, a thick, woven, hemp necklace hugging his perfect adam's apple, dark navy jeans that held his figure in all the most wonderful places. He was wearing a belt as he normally had to; he was so thin that a lot of the time his pants would fall so that his boxers showed and he was never much into a "hoodlum" fashion. He had high-top converse shoes on, white with tan clouds and lightning on them. He had a watch on one thin wrist and a live strong on the other with another hemp bracelet that consumed almost three inches of his wrist. The shirt had two buttons unbuttoned at the top, revealing light flesh rarely ever seen because of the constrictions of the weather in South Park. Stan could see the boy's collarbone and the shadows it casted when he breathed and how it fell in and out of focus; everything about him was just absolutely poetic. Beautiful. Stan gave himself a mental slap, walking over to his best friend and inquiring nonchalantly,

"What's with the style today?"

Kyle smirked, "You implying I don't normally have style?"

Stan simpered, "Not exactly, I just didn't think you were into style,"

"Fuck you, dude, I love style,"

Kenny was staring at the two, scratching at his head with his index finger, about to mention the name combination phenomenon until Cartman barked,

"I'll be late,"

They all turned to the heavier boy with questioning stares, Stan was the first to ask,

"What?"

He looked to Kenny, finishing, "I'll be late to your party tonight. It's at the pizza place, right?"

Kenny's face filled with flattery again until he exploded onto Cartman with a stupid grin,

"You remembered too?"

Stan laughed, "Yeah, we all did. I mean, to be honest, Kenny, I probably wouldn't have remembered if Kyle hadn't been reminding me the date at the end of every week, but…does that count?"

Kenny looked up to the blue-faced boy in his tight grasp,

"What about you, Cartman? Was Kyle making sure you kept track too?"

The brunette sighed, "If there's one thing that Jew is good at, it's keeping our shit in order. Yeah, he did,"

Kenny looked at the redhead again, smiling angelically, "Thanks, Kyle,"

He shrugged, "Yeah, dude, of course,"

Cartman was eyeing Kyle strangely then; Stan noticed it and despised it. When Kenny released him he walked up to Kyle, curling his thick fist around the smaller boy's collar. Stan went to stop him as Kyle was lifted slightly off the ground, setting a threatening mood to the air, but Cartman halted any intervention by inquiring casually,

"What's with the outfit?"

Stan was appalled to see a fluster fill Kyle's elegant features at Eric's baritone attempt at indifference, but violent undertones still shined through,

"I-I," He averted his emerald eyes from Cartman's inquisitive semi-glare, "I have an interview today, so I wanted to look good. Why do you give a fuck?"

The taller and much more massive teenager released his crinkling hold on the boy's shirt, settling his feet back on the ground as he looked away, crossing his arms. Kyle brushed at the wrinkles, using his OCD magic to make them disappear until he looked up again, his silky curls bobbing with the shift,

"Huh?"

Cartman looked at the boy from the corner of his demonic eyes, then away again with a pout developing,

"People are staring at you, that's all,"

Kyle's blush calmed a little, his expression melting to something much cuter than his shocked-face; and that certainly was a feat. He pulled on the hem of his shirt, looking down his legs,

"Is it weird?"

Cartman blushed a little, catching Stan's eye and making his stomach sour with disgust.

"N-no, you look good,"

Kyle looked up at him, "Thanks. If it really freaks you out, I'll try to dress a bit more casually next time,"

Cartman turned more towards him, unaware of the red creeping up his every characteristic,

"U-uh, okay, t-thanks,"

Stan was in the midst of an inner crisis; stuck between loathing Eric Cartman and the bliss he seemed to be in and the forgiving and adorable air of his Super Best Friend. Kyle was guarded, but never cruel to Cartman, even though he probably deserved it. It never mattered to Kyle, as they got older, what a person had done in the past; Kyle Broflovski's philosophy was,

_"It's not about what you've done. It's about what you do," _

Stan blushed, staring at the boy dreamily. His skin looked so soft, so clean and smooth. Against the white shirt he practically glowed; his skin was light, but not pale, not at all. He was like a pearl or a diamond, beautifully subtle and white. He looked to Stan, a friendly smile replacing and out-doing his adorable expression from moments prior,

"Hey, check this out," He reached into his pocket, pulling out a pair of glasses and sliding them onto his ears, "What do you think?"

The group of boys' faces filled with blood; Kenny stiffened, Eric's shoulders and arms slacked and Stan nearly fainted.

He was so adorable.

Kenny was the first to speak,

"A-are those new?"

Kyle giggled, "Yeah, but they're fake. I figured I'd go to the interview all made up like this, I think they make me look smarter. What do you think?"

Kenny's face fell into a drooling smile, "Hey, Kyle,"

"Yeah?"

"Can we fuck sometime?"

Kyle nearly fell back, "W-WHAT?"

Kenny folded his arm, his elbow resting on Cartman's taller shoulder as he answered nonchalantly,

"You know, just you and me and good time butt-fucking,"

Kyle's mouth was agape, his thick lips shuddering to find some word capable of explaining the absurdity overwhelming the situation,

"F-fuck you, Kenny!"

The blonde dropped his pose, his hands resting against his chest, his eyes wide and brows perked,

"Please! I'm willing to get any STD for you!"

Cartman looked to the blonde, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Kenny looked up to him, "I just always imagined Kyle to be the type to do it old-school, ya know, nothing between him and whoever he was plowing,"

Stan blushed, staying out of the conversation and inwardly punishing himself for having imagined Kyle a bottom too.

The freckled teen's voice cracked through, "H-hey! Don't talk about me like I'm not d-directly in front of you!"

Eric laughed, "Plowing? Kyle's hardly capable of fucking anything. I always imagined him as a bottom,"

"Really? I mean, he does act like a bottom, but even with a girl?"

Eric laughed again, "Uh, yeah, definitely, he's too sensitive and cutesy. Totally a bottom,"

"Well, now that you mention it, I could imagine that,"

Kyle stepped between the two perverts, separating them and shouting with a scarlet face,

"You shouldn't be imagining me period!"

Cartman chuckled, settling a sizable hand on Kyle's shoulder and telling him,

"Don't get so uptight, Kyle, we're all just kidding around,"

Kyle clearly did not trust him, but that forced scowl and pursing of his full lips only earned him more wanting, inaudible gulps. He turned to the athlete, his distrusting face gone and appearing much more insecure as he asked sweetly,

"Stan, what do you think?"

To Stan, the rest of the world fell away. There were two spotlights, one on him and one on Kyle and they were the only ones there. Stan was the only one in the world who knew Kyle was gay. Did Kyle ask him on purpose because of that? Was Kyle indirectly asking if Stan thought he was attractive? Was he hoping Stan would react like Kenny? Was he getting at something? Implying something? Or was Stan just flattering himself? He gave himself another mental slap. He shouldn't treat Kyle any differently because he knew his secret. Kyle probably didn't mean a thing by it at all, he was simply asking if the glasses made him look smart.

"Y-yeah. They look great, really,"

Kyle simpered, "Thanks, Stan,"

He started backing away from the trio, "Well, the interview is in a couple minutes and I'll be leaving campus for the day for it, so…uhm…so I'll talk to you guys later,"

Stan and Eric nodded, but Kenny seemed distraught,

"Hey, Kyle, you'll be there later, right?"

The genius beamed, "Of course. Pizza Parlor on Church street, then everyone meets at the mall with the rest of your friends and we're having an illegal scavenger hunt. I didn't forget, Kenny, don't worry,"

He smiled, "Alright, if you need any more info, just text me or something,"

Kyle nodded, turning away, "Thanks, Kenny, I'll talk to you guys later,"

Before Kyle was two feet away Eric stated, "Good luck,"

They all turned to the brunette as he finished, directing his gaze only at the redhead,

"…you know, at your interview,"

Kenny bounced up, "Oh yeah, good luck, Kyle!"

Kyle looked to Stan as he bowed his head and muttered, "Yeah, Kye, good luck,"

The boy blushed a little more, his fingers curling into his palms as he turned around and started walking again. Cartman sighed,

"Well, the bell's gonna ring soon. See ya,"

As he marched off, Kenny looked to Stan and told him,

"Remember Stan, two-oh-three, right after school,"

Stan snapped out of the hypnosis his childhood friend left him in, looking into the light blue eyes of Kenny,

"Remember, Stan, Wendy'll be there,"

Kenny began walking away and Stan turned to watch Kyle's backside turn down another hall. That was right. Kenny's Birthday, the moment the bell rang at dismissal, in room two-zero-three, his destiny waited for him.

_

* * *

_

"Alright, Mr. Broflovski, we're going to being with some simple questions and then gradually we're going to move on to harder topics. Right now is basic knowledge for anyone with an IQ over one-hundred, so are you ready?"

He nodded, his hands folding in his lap, his heart thumping; the smartly dressed man turned on a tape recorder that sat at the corner of the wooden table and slipped on glasses, not looking at Kyle but rather at a notepad where Kyle could not see what he was scribbling,

"Do you know who I am?"

"You are a University Professor, Professor David Avinash. You specialize in mathematical proofs and I happen to have read your book on quantum physics,"

"Tell me, Mr. Broflovski, are you aware that you are being recorded right now?"

"Yes,"

"And you are okay with that?"

"Yes,"

"Very well, let's begin,"

There was a short silence in which Kyle was worried he may have heart failure, but he was distracted from his anxiety when the man inquired,

"When water is spilled on something, why does it appear darker if water is clear?"

"Water absorbs light protons…uhm, because of the adhesive character of water which makes the pigment particles closer to each other, uhm, together with the tissues which the material is made of, so the color appears darker, less reflective and the shirt becomes heavier which makes you feel wet..."

"Why is the sky blue and why are sunsets red?"

"Blue light is the shortest wave, and gets scattered the most by particles like air. Red gets scattered the least, and thereby…uhm, penetrates the deepest. The sky is blue because everywhere in the atmosphere above us, the blue part of the sun's light gets scattered in all directions while red light keeps plowing on ahead. At sunset and sunrise, the light has to travel sideways instead, through a whole lot more atmosphere to reach us, and only the red gets through to our eyes, while blue is left behind. That's also why the moon is orange when it rises and sets, and why lunar eclipses are red,"

"What is the only mammal that can't jump?"

"The elephant,"

"How long does it take light to travel across the Milky Way?"

"Seventy-five thousand years,"

"Do mosquitoes have teeth?"

"They do,"

"How many?"

"Forty seven,"

"A young child has a telescope and has favored one particular glowing body that they wish on, thinking it is a star. What is the child likely looking at?"

"A Quasar, which, uhm, more recent scientists believe are active centers of galaxies where supermassive black holes collect matter, that matter is so heated that the temperature gives it that bright appearance, like a star,"

"Explain to me Nuclear fusion,"

"Nuclear fusion is a process where two or more nuclei combine to form an element with a higher atomic number, meaning, uhm, more protons in the nucleus. Fusion of light elements, called reactants, into heavier elements, called products, releases energy. For fusion, the energy release occurs when the mass of the fusion products is smaller than the reactants. The difference between the total masses of all the protons and neutrons of a nucleus and the mass of the nucleus itself can be expressed in terms of the binding energy. The energy released is proportional to the difference in the masses as predicted by Einstein's famous equation, E=mc2. Fusion reactions power the Sun and other stars…uhm…too,"

"What is the farthest we ever get from the sun?"

"In what terms?"

"Miles,"

"Ninety-four point five million miles,"

"I'm going to hand you a slip of paper with a chemistry equation and I want you to tell me what kind of agent it is and why,"

"Alright,"

The paper read,

**Sn****2+****(aq) + 2Fe****3+****(aq) – Sn****4+****(aq) + 2Fe****2+****(aq)**

"It's an oxidising agent. There are no hydrogen ions in the equation, uhm, no protons transferred, if you are familiar with the Bronsted-Lowry approach to acids and bases so…uhm.... the tin(II) ions have lost electrons, which is oxidation,so…uh…and the iron(III) ions have made this happen and so…uhm… are acting as an oxidising agent…"

The man reached to the corner of the table, clicking a red button and shutting the recorder off. He sat back, sighing and closing his eyes. Kyle looked to the paper in front of him, to the window, then back to the man,

"Uhm…what happens now?"

"We take a break,"

"Am I…uhm…doing well?"

The man removed his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose,

"When Bernadette first came to me I thought she was insane. A kid your age, qualified to do the type of work I do, making proofs and all, I didn't believe it. But, I'm starting to think she's on to something,"

He looked to Kyle, "To say you're doing well is an understatement. You're in for a full day, Mr. Broflovski,"


	11. Sexi Plexi

Kyle glanced to his watch; he had been there for almost seven hours and he thought about what Stan might be doing. He was surrounded by Professor David Avinash's closest and most prestigious colleagues, all raving and ranting about the past hours; it was almost all centered on picking apart Kyle's brain. They teased him with hundreds of questions ranging from literature at the start of Gilgamesh to the end of the most recent presidency. He hadn't failed to answer even one question. After just falling short of proving the Big Bang theory, Professor Avinash called another suited man to keep him as a witness. Soon after, more and more men arrived. Only two women were there while there were five men. Kyle was smiling and nodding at one of the men shaking his hand when he felt a vibration in his pocket. The man turned away for a moment, answering the call of his name; in that time Kyle reached into his jeans, pulling out his phone and flipping it open,

**Text Received at: 2:46 P.M.**

**From: Dr. S. T. Slim**

**Dude wtf r u? how did it go? **

Kyle shut his phone, ignoring the message to look back to the group of people. He shook a lot of hands, memorized a lot of faces and names and impressed plenty of people, but the most significant moment was the one that followed the text message. He looked to the door to see his forlorn English teacher. He jet to the door and had to stop himself from hugging her, thinking it may appear inappropriate. He was grinning from ear to ear,

"Bernadette! I didn't know you'd be coming today!"

She smiled to him, "Of course I'd be here, Kyle. I sent you here, it'd be rude of me to just leave you to these wolves. She was greeted by everyone and Kyle was swelling with pride to be walking beside her. She ran a hand through her silky auburn hair and immediately came up to Professor Avinash,

"Well?"

He looked to her, crossing his arms,

"You were right,"

She smirked, "Yeah, I know. So what do we do?"

He sighed, rubbing at the side of his five o'clock shadow,

"Depends on what he's ready for and if he wants anything to do with it,"

He looked straight at Kyle, making the boy's heart thump in suspense,

"Hopefully we won't have a Good Will Hunting case and you'll be willing to pursue the future we can mold for you,"

He nodded fervently, "Oh, of course, absolutely, I-I, uhm, if you or anyone or if I can, if it's, uhm, if I can manage something spectacular, I-I want to…"

The man laughed, slapping a friendly hand onto his lanky shoulder,

"For such an intelligent young man, he isn't very articulate,"

Bernadette smiled at Kyle who was officially tall enough to look her straight in the eyes,

"It'll grow on him soon enough. He's a quick learner. I'm sure you were able to figure that out, though,"

He nodded, "I'm looking forward to all installments ahead,"

_

* * *

_

Stan was pacing around the front of the vacant room of two-hundred and three, waiting for the Goddess of South Park High to enter and bestow some great truth on him. He had texted Kyle earlier, but he uncharacteristically did not respond. He reasoned that Kyle must have shut his phone off during the interview, as that would be the only rational reason Kyle wouldn't reply to Stan. In situations such as those, Stan was reminded of how important it was to him to impress Kyle. He always wanted to be Kyle's hero, he always wanted Kyle to feel protected by him. Stan's heart rate went down, his nerves warming and his smile spreading on him like butter on hot pancakes; stupid, but it was how it felt. He closed his eyes and thought back to a January two years prior…

* * *

"Stan! Stan!"

He turned to see his best friend, so handsome and glowing, but sweaty from track. He grinned,

"What's up, Kye?"

"I passed the entrance exam for the Advanced classes!"

Stan hugged him despite his damp and heated coat of perspiration,

"That's great, dude, I knew you would,"

He felt the boy smile against his neck, his thick lips moving against his flesh making a chill run up his spine. It was pleasurable, but frightening.

"I'm almost done with practice, will you stay?"

"Uhm, yeah, sure,"

Stan was dragged to the back of the school by his wrist and Kyle seated him on the silver benches. He was beaming so cutely, his dexterous hands practically twitching with all his excitement; Stan couldn't help but chuckle at the boy. He really was cute sometimes. He spent that afternoon watching his best friend leap and run like a speeding bullet, a stupid grin plastered on his face and his body dripping with well-earned beads of sweat, still glowing with the magical aura of perfection Kyle Broflovski had been born with. So perfect. So wonderful in every way.

When practice broke, Kyle refused to shower in the locker rooms or even change, he just grabbed his bag and wanted nothing more than to rush home and play video games with Stan. Stan couldn't have been happier. Kyle talked his ear off the whole way to his house, walking backwards and talking with his hands; occasionally getting a hearty laugh out of Stan by stumbling on an erect slab of cement from behind. He didn't mind it, though, he just kept talking and laughing and showing off his pearly teeth. If Stan had his way, every day would have been just like that. Kyle would have no way of expressing his utterly blissful happiness except by practically regurgitating sunshine while Stan would tag along and share in it by basking in the glow of him. Nothing made him happier. That was a Friday, so Stan ended up sleeping over. After hours of Smash Brothers, Kyle baking chocolate chip cookies (melty and messy, just the way he knew Stan loved them) they collapsed onto Kyle's bed with exhausted sighs. Stan folded his arms under his head as Kyle perched his cheek into his palm and leaned on his elbow, facing him by flipping onto his side.

"I'm so glad I've got you,"

Stan flustered slightly, "T-thanks, dude…uhm…why?"

The redhead smiled adorably, "I just know that no one could ever get me like you do. No one could put up with me and how crazy I am, you know?"

"Really? That's what I love about you,"

They both blushed furiously, not a moment of silence passing before Stan corrected,

"I-I mean, it's what I like about you, not uhm…uh…"

Kyle's emerald eyes were still wide, his face had lifted off his hand in shock, his eyebrows were still arched; Stan felt the heat crawling up his face,

"U-uhm, w-what do you like about me?"

Stan started screaming in his head about how stupid it was to ask another boy that question, how gay and idiotic he must have sounded, but he was in a panic. It was the first thing that came to his mind to fill the gap of silence before it got awkward and eerie. Kyle's features calmed, he fell back into his hand, his muscles relaxed as did his brows and he murmured,

"Everything,"

Stan couldn't recall everything that happened after that. He didn't know exactly how they got back to laughing and joking, but eventually they were getting into bed. When they were, they talked and talked until the wee hours. Soon enough, though, it fell into a sleep quiet and Stan's lids began to close. It was then that Kyle turned over onto him, curling up next to him, his head resting on Stan's shoulder as he muttered sleepily,

"Don't,"

"Huh?"

"Go to sleep…"

"…okay…"

"No, no…like…don't go…to sleep…"

It took every fiber in Stan's body to half-open his left eye, the beautiful indigo shining in the darkness of the room,

"Why?"

"I want you to be here…when I fall asleep…just be here…"

"Dude, I'm tired…"

"Stay awake…for me…"

Stan's heart skipped a beat, instinct taking over and mandating his body; his face cuddled into Kyle's satin mane and he whispered,

"Okay,"

"Thank you, Stan…"

The next utterance had warped Stan into the person he was. The next sentence that mindlessly escaped his friend would mold every corner and curve of his personality and destiny. After feeling Kyle's face heat up against his collarbone, after feeling Kyle nuzzle into the crook of his neck he finished,

"…you always make me feel…so protected,"

Stan wrapped a strong arm around Kyle's frame from under him, feeling the boy snuggle closer and in that moment no one else was there. Not in the house, not in the town, not in the world. There was one spot light and it was on him and Kyle and the rest of the world fell away. There were no feelings but those that Kyle created against Stan's flesh, there were no sounds but those escaping Kyle's sleeping sighs, there were no words but those that Kyle so selflessly blessed Stan's ears with. There was only Kyle and him and nothing else mattered. And he couldn't have been happier.

* * *

"Stan?"

Stan sharply turned around to face the door; through the windows the light was hitting on Wendy Testaburger. It kind of made her glow; the dust could be seen floating around, but it wasn't ugly. It made everything feel empty.

"Y-yeah, uhm…Kenny said you wanted to see me…"

She nodded, closing the door behind her as she walked all the way in. She was holding to one of her upper-arms, responding lightly,

"I wanted to talk to you. You see…I, uhm…I hate to say this, but I don't think your friends fit you,"

Stan tilted his head, "What do you mean?"

"I mean they're not like you; you're really cool. You're on the football team, you're smart, you're hot…"

Stan blushed furiously, his heart pounding away in his ribs, "I-I…uhm, I guess you're right…"

She smiled, her arm falling away in greater confidence,

"I know it might come as a shock or whatever, but I wanted to ask you if you wanted to sit with me and my friends at lunch tomorrow and stuff…"

He bobbed his head violently, "Y-yeah, y-yeah, definitely, sure, yeah…"

Her smile grew as she tucked some raven hair behind her pierced ear, "Great…we'll catch you tomorrow, then,"

When she left, Stan hadn't a clue to what he had done in saying those few stammered responses. Though they were small and unintentional, Stanley Marsh had signed a contract with the Devil, promising his soul to the clique of the Goddess Wendy Testaburger.


	12. Six O'clock World

Everyone was walking through the parking lot to get across and into the mall. There was a group of maybe sixteen people; all of Kenny's friends. They were leaving the pizza place and everyone had been given the list of tasks to be done in the mall. The goal was to complete all the outrageous tasks by six o'clock and meet by Forever 21 and if one team finished first, then they had to text all other members of the other teams and alert them. There were points to each task, though, so even if one team makes it to the end of the list first, it doesn't necessarily mean they got the most points. Thus, the team with the most points wins the Scavenger Hunt. Not only that, but each task had to be recorded by photograph or video to prove they really did it. Kyle and Stan immediately partnered together; Bebe and Token joining their team. Every team consisted of four people. Cartman was on Kenny's team with Butters and Red; they were team One, or rather, The Sexy Panthers. Clearly, Kenny had named the team. Team two was a composite of Bradley, Tweak, Pip and Annie; Team Respectfully Awesome, named mostly by Pip. Team three had Clyde, Francis, Kevin and Lola; Team Ass Fuck. No one cared to know who named it, although Clyde was a likely suspect. Kyle was reading the list as he half-tripped over some ice in a parking spot, shouting,

"Kenny, you fuck, how are we supposed to get a stranger to take their shirt off?!"

The blonde laughed, "I didn't say the challenges would be easy!"

Token chuckled, "Knowing Kenny all those challenges are gonna be perverted,"

Stan looked to the redhead beside him and at his handsome face in confused anguish; he really was dreading whatever was on that list. When they got into the building, Kenny reminded them all that if a mall cop caught them, they'd get kicked out of the mall. Everyone was always so uptight; it was too bad that adults couldn't just let the kids play their games. They all split up, and Kyle being the genius he was, decided splitting the team up into two pairs would get more done than traveling by fours. He assigned tasks to Token and Bebe;

1. Draw a purple mustache on a female team member with lipstick and record this by camera

2. Sing to a complete stranger and have them rate you from one to ten (extra points if it's a Barry Manilow song) and record this by video

3. Go into the Urban Outfitters tent, get a pillow, a pair of yellow boots and a flask (extra points if you get another customer to drink from the flask with you) and record this by camera

4. Do the "I'm a Little Tea Pot" dance and song in Hot Topic (extra points if you get audience-participation) and record this by video

5. Go into any store and help a customer, pretend to work there (extra points if you helped someone you knew), record this by video

6. Get a male team member to get a makeover in one of the cosmetic stores (extra points if he keeps it for the rest of the day), record this by video

7. Go into Spencer's and buy me a perverted, kinky gift ;D

8. Get a stranger to take off their shirt in the food court (extra points if it's a chick) and record this by camera

9. Take pictures with three different miniature Jesus statues in the Catholic Supply Store (extra points for perverted placement)

Kyle sent them off with that, which left for him and Stan;

1. Do the Party-Boy dance to three random strangers (extra points if you get them to dance with you) and record this by camera

2. Make a pyramid of books in Barnes and Noble and record this by camera

3. Get a cashier to kiss a team member on the cheek and record this by camera

4. A male team member must go into Victoria's Secret and wear panties purchased on the outside of their clothing in front of the store (extra points if they wear this while another team mate wears the candy-bra in front of the stores in the picture) and record this by camera

5. Buy a candy-bra from Spencer's, a male member must wear it to the following stores; Hot Topic, Hallmark, Barnes and Noble, Claire's and The Catholic Supply Store. Record this by camera

6. Male member must get someone to eat off the candy bra (extra points if it's the same sex or a stranger) record this by camera

7. Female or Male member must get kissed by a stranger (extra points if there's tongue), record this my camera

8. Get pixie-sugar from Dylan's Candy Bar and have a team mate lick it off the lips of another. (extra points for same-sex) Record this by camera

Kyle looked to Stan, "Come on, we've got a lot to do,"

He looked to his watch; they only had an hour and a half. He took out his cell phone and pressed the camera button, insisting, "Stan, you go and do the party boy dance,"

Stan blushed, "No way!"

"Just do it! Go!"

Stan begrudgingly snuck up behind three unsuspecting people and did the Party-Boy dance; one was a teenage girl who punched him in the abdomen, the second one was a middle-aged Asian women who didn't notice and Stan had gone so low as to do it to an old woman who, of course, didn't see him. He rushed back to Kyle as checked off the first task.

"I know where Barnes and Noble is," Kyle started as he turned to the left.

Stan rolled his eyes, "Of course you do,"

They ran up a staircase flooding with people to get into Barnes and Noble, going to the back of the store and making the pyramid. They checked it off after taking a photo of it and began walking out. Kyle was looking at the list when Stan ripped it out of the boy's hold. Kyle was disgruntled at first, looking to Stan, but the ebony-haired teen tilted his head to the right. Kyle looked to find a mall cop on a segway staring at them suspiciously. Kyle turned away with Stan, muttering,

"Thanks…I guess we should keep the list hidden, huh?"

Stan nodded, "Yeah…but how are we supposed to get a cashier to kiss one of us?"

Kyle glared with a smirk, "Come on, Stan, you're gorgeous, just go and woe some girl in Hollister,"

Stan blushed again, "I-I can't just-"

"Yes you can! Go!"

Kyle started pushing at Stan's back and although he put his heels to the floor to stop him, they were pitiful brakes. Kyle pushed him into Hollister and they both anxiously fumbled through the store. He made it to the front desk and asked the blonde girl,

"I-I…uhm,"

"Can I help you with something?"

Stan rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly,

"You see, uhm, I'm supposed to…uh…" he lowered his voice to a whisper, "look, we're doing a Scavenger Hunt for my friend's birthday and one of the things we have to do is get a kiss on the cheek from a cashier…so…uh, could you?"

She smirked, "Gladly,"

Kyle lifted his phone and took a photo of the girl kissing Stan's cheek. They stammered and thanked her and left, Stan gloating about it the whole way out. Kyle didn't allow it to go unnoticed that Stan had to be physically forced in the store. Stan looked at the list and started,

"You are totally doing the panties thing, I'm not doing that…"

"Fine, but you have to wear the candy bra,"

Stan scowled, a rain cloud over his head, "Ugh, fine,"

They raced to Victoria's Secret and into the pantie isles. Stan felt very awkward looking through all the lingerie, but Kyle seemed to be very into it. He was contemplating a light green, lace…thing…did it even qualify as underwear? It was barely anything at all. Stan checked his cell phone; they had already taken more than twenty minutes. He shook Kyle's shoulders,

"Come on, hurry up and pick something! What's the issue?"

"Well, Stan, considering this is all going to end up on Facebook I wanna pick something that will at least look good on me,"

Stan blushed, hitting the back of his head, "Shut up and pick something!"

"Fine, fine!"

Kyle bought the green panties and took a photo with them on the outside of his skinny jeans outside the store. He quickly took them off when he could, though, as he pulled a lot of unwanted attention to himself.

"What's next?" Kyle inquired as he pulled the sheet from Stan's weak grip.

"The candy bra," Stan muttered with despair. Kyle laughed, looping arms with Stan and telling him,

"Don't worry, it's all in good fun,"

The charcoal-haired boy blushed furiously, averting his eyes from the cute display linked to his right side. They ran into Spencer's and Kyle paid for the candy-bra that he had to tie onto Stan. They ran up and down the escalators to all the different stores, taking pictures, but when they weren't taking pictures, Stan would zip up his jacket to hide the bra from the mall cops; no need to give them more suspicion. As they were leaving the Catholic Supply Store they ran by Cartman, Kenny, Butters and Red. Cartman leered at Kyle,

"Hey, losers, how many have you got done?"

Kyle crossed his arms, glaring challengingly at the taller boy,

"I'll have you know we're nearly half-way done,"

Cartman scoffed, but it was clearly a bluff. Stan gripped Kyle, insisting,

"Come on, dude, we've got shit to get done,"

"Yeah, yeah," Kyle was dragged ahead.

Stan looked back at the group to find Cartman watching them leave, his gaze stuck on Stan's Super Best Friend. Cartman's stare moved to Stan's and it turned into an irate glare. Stan turned up the stairs with Kyle, breaking the eye-contact and asking,

"So? What've we got left?"

Kyle ran a hand through his hair, answering,

"We've got-"

Just at that moment, Bebe and Token came racing up to them,

"Hey, guys!" Bebe greeted.

Kyle smiled, "How did you guys do?"

"Great, we got everything done,"

"Really?"

"Yeah, except I sort of knew the guy in the food court…does that still count?"

Kyle nodded, "Yeah, whatever,"

"What about you guys?" Bebe interviewed.

Kyle looked at the list, "We've got to get someone to eat the candy bra off of Stan, someone's got to kiss a stranger and someone has to lick sugar off another team mate…"

"Kenny is seriously fucked up," Token shook his head.

Kyle looked at him, "What kinky gift did you get him?"

"We got him a Rainbow Penis lollipop,"

They all stared at it in Token's hand.

"…is was that or a leather whip, and if we got him that you know he would use it on us the whole way home,"

They all grunted in agreement until the blonde inquired,

"So…should we assign things again?"

Kyle looked to his watch, "Well, it's five thirty, so we're seriously running out of time,"

"Well, I'm not kissing a stranger, that's just gross,"

Kyle sighed, "Really, Bebe? I thought you were braver than that!"

She crossed her arms over her chest, "No way,"

"No way?"

"Depends…who would it be?"

"I dunno, I'd grab the first person I saw,"

"Ha!" She choked, "No way, no,"

"Fine…Token?"

"Nuh-unh, I've got a girlfriend, she'd get pissed,"

He looked to Stan pleadingly…

"I AM WEARING A CANDY BRA RIGHT NOW,"

Kyle groaned, "Ugh! Fine, you're all pussies!"

He stormed off, suddenly making Stan extremely uneasy. He watched Kyle approach the first person he saw; Damien. Nothing good could come of this. Stan started going over with Token and Bebe; Token had his camera at the ready. Kyle had clearly explained the predicament they were in and Damien was more than understanding. To Stan's unexplained horror Damien cupped Kyle's jaw and pulled him into a romantic kiss. Bebe nearly fainted; Damien's midnight hair and dark lashes, tan complexion contrasting with Kyle's lighter tone and tangerine coat, their lips moving against each other so readily. Token snapped a picture and the boys' lips hesitantly broke away. So began the long, dark night of Stan's soul.

The jealousy was building up in Stan, wrapping around all the muscles in his arms and legs, stiffening his hands into fists just begging to crush Damien's face. He couldn't, though, because Kyle thanked him for being a good sport and Damien slurred some perverted compliment and the redhead walked off with them. He checked off the kiss from the list and exhaled sharply,

"No else was gonna do it, alright? I got it done, now let's get someone to eat this off Stan,"

The athlete blushed as attention was shifted back to him; he let his hands fall loose and allowed Kyle's pleasant presence to wash away the aggravation. Bebe was able to sway a freshman in Hot Topic to eat it off him, promising it wouldn't end up on the internet. She was lying, of course. The girl did, though and they checked it off. Token then looked at his watch, exclaiming,

"Guys, we've got to get to Dylan's Candy Bar, like NOW,"

They ran down the string of stores, their hearts pounding with competitive adrenaline; Stan thought of how funny it would be to imagine them all in slow-motion. Bebe with her boobs flying left from right, Token in the front with his strained facial expression cause he was so tired, Kyle pushing past Bebe and poor, ridiculous Stan, running through the mall with a candy-bra over his shirt and his jacket flowing behind him like a super hero. They finally made it to the Candy Bar and bought the colored sugar. Kyle was opening it outside the store as Token was watching his wrist with anxiety writ across his face,

"Come on, come on,"

Kyle was taking off the plastic cap as he ordered,

"Stan, lick your lips,"

"What?"

"Just do it,"

Stan did as told, thoroughly licking his lips until they were intruded upon by Kyle's thumb which rubbed the sugar across him. Before Stan could protest or let out a sound Kyle's hot tongue ran over his lips, gripping at his jaw to keep him in place. Then it happened again. The world fell away and there was one spot light, only on him and Kyle and nothing else mattered. His heart was punching at him, threatening to break through his flesh and land on the floor as tingling sensations ran up and down his entire body, making the hairs on the back of his neck stick up. The feeling of Kyle's hot breath running across him and his thick, warm tongue working against him. He first ran across Stan's bottom lip, picking up all of the sweet powder, then he circled his tongue to the top of Stan's mouth and he picked up what was left on the top lip. There must have been some left as he felt Kyle's lips close around his top lip and slowly release; it took every cell in Stan's body to keep from moaning in pleasure. It was so tantalizing, so exciting, so seductive, so amazing, so perfect. He couldn't have been happier. That was frightening.

Suddenly, the world came back,

"Come on, we've got to get to Forever 21!" Kyle barked.

They all headed after him, Bebe complimenting him on his bravery as Stan was forced to follow. He could barely feel his legs, his stomach filled with butterflies and his lips tingling with wonderful sensations. He blamed it on the sugar. They made it to the store and only a minute short of six o'clock.

They won.


	13. Not About Love

Kyle turned over onto his side, his smiling visage facing Stan as he whispered,

"You up?"

Stan turned his head over on his crossed arms to face his Super Best Friend;

"Mmhmm,"

Kyle laid his head down on his pillow,

"I had a dream about you the other night,"

Stan blushed lightly, but it couldn't be spotted in the darkness of Kyle's room; it sounded sort of romantic. He knew if it was a dirty dream, Kyle would never have mentioned it, but he couldn't help but imagine it. His mind produced an image of the pure, innocent, adorable Kyle waking up in the morning sticky with sweat and seed from a dream of Stan. It made his blush deepen, but he gave himself a mental slap and inwardly argued that he shouldn't flatter himself.

"What was it about?"

"I don't really remember. There were a lot of pancakes, there was a wild dolphin named Jojo and we were in the Gulf of Mexico…but…eh, anyway, you saved me from pirates and we ended up hiding out in the jungles of an old abandoned Mayan temple,"

"…uhm…what?"

"You saved me from pirates,"

"…what's the significance of that?"

"Well, after looking it up I found out that pirates normally symbolize someone in your life whose adding emotional chaos, or taking advantage of you, like "pirating" you or something, so-"

"No, I mean, what's with me saving you?" Stan interrupted.

"You're always the hero,"

Stan smiled, "I like being your hero,"

"I like you being my hero too," Kyle snorted a laugh, "Although, how weak is my esteem that I have to be saved in my own fucking fantasies?"

Stan was about to laugh but slipped into a suggestive tone,

"Oh? Fantasies?"

"Shut up, I didn't mean it that way, gutter-head," Kyle shook his head.

Stan wouldn't give up, though; he loved having the opportunity to tease his friend,

"After rescuing you heroically from pirates and whisking you off to this temple, did I make sweet, sweet love to you, Kyle?"

The redhead laughed, "Shut the fuck up, Stan,"

"Did I strike a cord? Hmm," He joked, "maybe it wasn't as sweet as I first thought, then,"

"Stan, I'm warning you," Kyle hissed through a playful grin.

"Was I wrong to think you were more sentimental? Was it in broad daylight or nighttime?"

"Stan!" Kyle's voice cracked, his smile still evident in his voice.

"Daylight, totally daylight with that reaction; the only thing you'd have to worry about with being embarrassed about it being daylight is if we did it outside. Was it on the stairs of the temple, Kyle?"

"Stan, shut the fuck up! I told you it wasn't a-"

Stan could tell that Kyle didn't really mind his torturing, though; the urge to laugh was still leaking through Kyle's words.

"Alright, so not only did we not even make it sweet, but it was rough, so I rescued you from pirates, take you off to this old-ass temple where I fuck you on the stairs in broad daylight,"

"Stan!" Kyle bit as he jumped the boy.

Stan was being pushed into the mattress, their hands clasped together and pushing against each other. Kyle's less muscular build was light enough that the force he was putting into his palms lifted and spread his torso. His new position, straddling Stan's waist with a slightly curved spine and stiffened shoulders, brought new shadows and lights from the moonlight spilling into his room from his window. His diamond-like eyes twinkled like emeralds, the crescent outside casting white lights on his freckled and flustered face, revealing his humored grin. Stan loved that face. More than any other; that smile meant he succeeded. He was Kyle Broflovski's hero; Kyle Broflovski, the boy who could be his own hero, so smart and charming and amazing and unique and fun and talented, Kyle Broflovski, relied on him, Stan Marsh, for a good laugh and a firm shoulder to lean on. Stan cherished that more than anything. He was Kyle Broflovski's hero; an average, hick-raised kid like Stan Marsh impressed someone as amazing as Kyle. That made his heart feel golden, it made his stomach twist into a bow, his blood even tickled; he'd never admit just how much he loved being Kyle's Super Best Friend.

"You know, it's the two-month anniversary of the day you came out of the closet to me,"

Kyle's smile calmed a little, "You remember that?"

"Of course I fucking remember that,"

"No, I mean…the date, you remembered that?"

Stan nodded, tilting his head on the pillow and smiling,

"Yeah, it's important to you, isn't it?"

"Well…yeah,"

"Then we should celebrate it,"

"How?"

Stan shrugged, "Well, tomorrow's Saturday, we can celebrate it tomorrow by staying in, watching good movies and…I dunno, make a cake or something,"

"What kind of cake?" Kyle chuckled.

Stan blushed at the charming sound of Kyle's laugh. The way it sank in with his words…it was cute, almost flirtatious.

"Rainbow?"

Kyle slipped his left knee over Stan's thigh, threatening to shove his knee into Stan's crotch. Stan beamed anxiously,

"A-Alright, alright, it won't be rainbow!"

Kyle laughed again, "You're funny, Stan,"

"What?"

"You're just so retarded,"

"I'm not retarded, you're retarded,"

"No, you're retarded,"

"I know you are, but what am I?"

"RETARDED," Kyle guffawed.

Stan was giggling, "Hey, Kye, give me the Webster's definition of the verb to laugh,"

The redhead stared quizzically, "Why?"

"I just wanna see the boy-genius at work,"

Kyle smirked, "To express amusement, mirth or scorn by smiling and emitting loud, inarticulate sounds,"

"Sheesh, now say it in Hebrew,"

"Fuck you,"

"How come? I thought we already covered that in your fantasy the other night,"

Kyle's grin spread, "Shut up!"

He put more pressure on Stan's hands, but Stan hadn't prepared for it and his forearms collapsed, causing Kyle fall onto him. Kyle's forehead clumsily met Stan's, their noses touching, chests drumming against each other and Stan's arms being conquered by Kyle's. However, the worst of the situation was yet to come. Kyle's knee was still in between Stan's legs and upon the slip of grace it pressed everso slightly into Stan's lower region, making him unintentionally groan in pleasure at the pressure. It was cut off short, though, once their eyes snapped open to each other; Kyle decided to ignore it and struggled to sit up again. He was still straddling Stan, but he moved his legs around Stan's waist in order to prevent anymore lustful noises. He was blushing furiously, his heart pounding,

"S-sorry about that, Stan, I-"

"Was that your first kiss?"

Kyle's hands planted themselves delicately on the cutting board that was Stan's stomach.

"What?"

"Today…in the mall, was that your first kiss?"

"No," Kyle admitted shamelessly; for whatever reason, it irked Stan.

"Why?"

"Why were you so weird then?"

"What?" Kyle begged.

Stan glared, his blush creeping into his ears,

"Why were you so weird with me just now if you were able to kiss someone you barely knew?"

Kyle's blush returned, "What do you mean? Are you angry because I didn't kiss you?"

"No, you were supposed to kiss a stranger!"

"No, I mean, now or then?"

"What?"

"Now! As in, are you angry that I didn't kiss you just now when my head smashed into yours?!"

Stan blushed…

Was he?

"I guess I'm just peeved that you…could kiss someone you barely know, but you're totally fucking put off by almost kissing me…I guess…"

Kyle's heart was fluttering, his smile spreading,

"It was my first kiss with a guy…and seeing as you're my best friend-"

"Super Best Friend," Stan corrected.

Kyle sighed, "Super Best Friend, I can see why you might get weirded out…or irritated…well, he didn't use any tongue, so…"

Stan cocked a brow, "So what?"

"So…if it really bothers you so much, you can kiss me, Stan, and take my official first guy kiss if you want,"

A heavy silence fell in the room and Stan suddenly became extremely aware of the feeling of Kyle's boyhood pressing against his own in his straddle.

"Cause then you wouldn't be bothered, right? If I ever get in a gay relationship or anything, you wouldn't be angry when they kissed me cause you know you got first dibs…"

Stan was staring blankly ahead, searching Kyle's moonlit face, trying to find a joke or prank; there was nothing secret in them, though. He really meant what he was saying. Stan's stomach started knotting up, his heart started pumping anxiously,

"Alright…i-if you're…okay with that, Kyle…"

Kyle's brain exploded with excitement and disbelief, but as his mind began flooding with elation and courage, courage that may have been enough to admit his deep-rooted attraction to his friend, he remembered that wedding dress. That beautiful, white, lace, satin, chiffon and tulle, angelic and pearl attire did not belong to him. His heart's beating like a drum sank, sounding further away and much less optimistic. He blamed himself; after all, he knew he wasn't a girl. He could never make Stan happy. That was not his place, it never would be and this was a kiss between friends. Stan was insecure, that was all. Stan felt estranged from Kyle because of their opposite attractions and all Stan could do to preserve their trust was to kiss him; yes, yes, that made sense. For Kyle, any excuse would do.

Stan could see the sad twist in Kyle's eyes. They lowered and glazed over with something unreadable, making Stan's heart bump with worry. He had never seen that before. There wasn't just sadness there, there was a pain, some kind of heartache, some kind of awful throe coating his beautiful jade irises. Stan sat up, Kyle sitting in his lap and the awareness of their groins rubbing together only worsened Stan's strange and oddly giddy feeling. He was suddenly overcome with the wish to destroy that sad look in Kyle's eyes. Now, it would never be odd for a Super Best Friend to want their Super Best Friend's sadness to dissolve, but it was much more than that. It was as if someone other than Stan took over Stan's body, someone deep inside him surfaced and their only purpose was to protect Kyle from his pain and sadness. He reached forward, his hands cupping Kyle's cheeks,

"Is this really okay?"

Kyle's emeralds pierced Stan as he answered in a hushed voice,

"Yeah, it's really okay,"

Stan wrapped his right hand into Kyle's tangerine locks, caressing them gently as his left thumb pet his jaw-line.

"No…it's not,"

Kyle looked at him quizzically as he explained, "You…you want me to kiss you so I won't be a weird possessive friend over who you date, but…you want your first kiss to be meaningful and…loving…"

Kyle's stare had moved away, but when it flickered back, his lashes flashing shortly, it made Stan's heart skip a beat…

"Stan,"

_"Stan,"_

"Kye…"

_"…kiss me,"_

Stan pulled him in closer as he leaned in, his lips a moment away from Kyle's full and luscious mouth that had tortured him for months. His brain was fuzzy and his repeating daydream of kissing Kyle finally came to life after he uttered,

"I love you,"

At the meeting of their lips they both inhaled deeply, the entire world span, fireworks were going off behind Stan's eyes, his heart thundering in his chest, his face feeling hot and hands shaking. Kyle's innards acted like an atomic bomb in reverse, his veins curling and jumping and threatening to blind him or bind his racing heart; he could have sworn the sky fell when Stan ran his tongue over his lips. He nervously welcomed him, tilting his head and giving Stan more access to him; Stan's elementary kiss was enough to bring Kyle to his knees. He melted away there, in Stan's arms, though he'd never know. All Kyle could comprehend of his surroundings and being was the feeling of Stan's hands raking through his hair and groping at his neck and Stan's wonderfully warm mouth. Every move was filled with the resolve to get closer, taste more and feel more. Kyle gasped as he was thrown down onto his back, the pillows sighing under him as his back hit the bed, but before more could be done, Stan's mouth had captured his again. He wondered why Stan had done such a dominant thing, but his answer was found soon enough when he felt Stan grinding against him.

He involuntarily moaned into their kiss, unknowingly exciting Stan further at the feeling of its echo down his throat. No matter how wanting and shaky their hands against each other felt, or how desperate their reluctant groans were, neither broke their kiss and Kyle began losing himself in his daily daydream come to life. His hands had moved up Stan's chest and were holding his neck, brushing through his silk hair while their hips crashed together and all that could be heard in the room were hushed whimpers and gasps. There was a moment everything slowed down, only a moment, but many things happened in that moment; Kyle's eyes were shut dreamily, expecting to wake and find it was really only a dream, as Stan's sizable hands held around his ribs from either side he felt the boy's tongue dive deeper into him. At that, he could tell Stan was concentrating, because for that moment their fast-paced rhythm against each other had calmed enough for Kyle to feel Stan's hardened boyhood against his own, at this his eyes flickered open as his mind finally registered;

_"I love you,"_

His irises tightened, his pupils shrinking back,

_"I love you,"_

_"I love you,"_

_"I love you,"_

_"I love you,"_

He felt Stan's guitar-callused thumbs crawling up the inside of his shirt and beginning to rub at his pert nipples when he used his own dexterous hands, planting them on Stan's chest-plates and pushing him back. They both choked for air, gazing wildly at each other with mussed hair, swollen lips and red faces. Kyle dearly missed the heat and magic of Stan's body against his, but after evaluating the situation all he could think of to say was,

"Whuh-what the fuck was that?"

Stan was out of breath and Kyle couldn't help but think he looked cute like that,

"I don't…know," He huffed, "…I guess I'm just…really…horny or something…s-sorry for…tackling you like that,"

Kyle wanted to scream,

_"What about when you said 'I love you,'!? Is it true? Do you feel that way?!"_

But of course the situation had drained him of all his confidence and he wondered if he hadn't just wished so hard to hear it that he mistook a whispered utterance for a confession Stan didn't have within him to make.


	14. Similar Lines

Kyle woke up that morning and watched Stan sleep.

_Creepy much? _

Kyle couldn't help himself. He adored the way Stan's breath heaved and grew in his virile chest and then released through a soft, almost inaudible exhale. He tried not to think about how awkwardly they had to say goodnight to each other and he tried not to think about the kind of terror eye-contact would be the rest of the day. He was too consumed in Stan and all of Stan's air and his breath and his chest and his dreaming and his mouth and his nose and his long, dark lashes. There was far too much distracting him from the painful, lonely reality of the oncoming, purple sunrise through his curtain-masked window. His curls hugged his freckled face as he thought about touching at Stan's ebony hair while he slept.

_"I love you,"_

He blushed…

Those words always triggered a nostalgic feeling in him; a story he read so many times to himself, to his mother and to his brother that he had memorized it as a child. His tired eyes closed as his full lips parted and he whispered,

"In the year of bated breath and lover's debt, there lived a man and his beautiful wife. And though they toiled in circular disintricacies and stayed the coming of any age time mustered, they loved each other dearly, to the threat of every deathbed and beyond,"

He paused, recalling the exact lines, "She spent her days singing songs about the house as she did everything in her power to create the best home she could manage of the sagging willows and bastard reeds she gathered for the husband she loved so much. And always, though he never knew the verses precisely, though he always knew the words to give her, though they sometimes meant the same with their smattered syllables and back traced fingers on the parchment beneath the pillows, always there were sweets on the table," He felt his own thin digits run across the side of his forehead distractedly, "He brought them in her sleep, in his wake, kneeling on the floor for the morning. Always, arms thin but full, eyes wide but view narrow, their blessings as few as one with every beautiful and dismembered as the enchantment he suffered. A blissful zealot,"

He silenced for a moment to listen to the rhythm of Stan's breathing again, then picked up,

"She smiled when he made his prayers between her legs, when he tasted the divine upon her mortal tongue, and when he loved her from the inside out. She always wished at the top of her pitches for his ultimate happiness, always thought of how fortunate she was to love so readily and be loved so readily in return. 'Someday', she'd say, 'someday I will make a copy of you', though she did not know she was unable. 'Someday,' she'd say, 'I'll make you something perfect,' …"

He sighed, "When he'd fall asleep, dead of night or dark of day, she'd whisper her songs into his open ears until she too fell unconscious. She always rattled in the spiral of his ears, a broken figurine in an unlined case, but it tickled pleasantly; the bells, the tottering footfalls, the sliding doors and water on granite, all sounds and all things bubbling at the base of his neck. They kept the vermin at bay," He breathed deeply, "they stood before the shrine, wet and desolate; his hands always played a part in the rhythms and functions of what, to any man, were as clear as water under a full moon. Clean and quiet, with the scent of sandwood,"

He felt his brows crease, "But she could not bear perfection for him, unknown to him, and slowly her songs fell away. Her fingers limp and body numb, that evening heralded no whispers for she could barely breathe with so much wire twined like ivy about her whitewashed neck. She wanted so badly to give him a copy of himself, she wanted so madly to make something perfect…she waited for his return, arms thin but full, eyes wide but view narrow. When he saw her, she was bound and brittle, is thin arms fell and the floor was filled with the taste of pomegranate; he tried and tried and tried, his eyes so wide and view so narrow that in the end he saw nothing,"

Kyle opened his eyes, turning over and pulling into a sitting position, all of his weight on his calves and knees. He lowered his head to Stan, his fatigued eyes closing again and hands lying absently in his lap,

"In the end, he knelt as he always would for her, waiting for her whispers, waiting and waiting and waiting for her whispers to return. Head tilted, ears to lips; he smiled as he waited for her, so happy to just be home with her, waiting for her whispers,"

Kyle lifted his head, tilting it slightly as he admired more angles of Stan's beautiful face,

"When he grew impatient, he was a craftsman. His fingers laid across the lacquer of her throat and the ripple of the wire, and when he tasted them he tasted the silver of the moon and the gold of the carp just beneath that reflection, there, just beneath that sleeping pulse, there was perfection,"

_The End._

Stan murmured something incoherent, deep in R.E.M sleep. Kyle envied him, as he would have preferred greatly to be in the depths of a restful and shrouding dream rather than bowing to what he considered the deity of his every fantasy and wishful thought. Kyle leaned back, letting his comfortably hot legs unravel under the covers as his back rested against the wall his bed was pressed against. The rays escaping the human eye, and those spreading onto him that he knew so well and explained to professors and writers were still magic to him as they weaved through the glass of his window and the thin threads of his curtains. His dreamy stare was stuck on his best friend, and for the first time in a long time, he thought of absolutely nothing. Not about discomfort, his desperate wish to be fit for a dress as beautiful as his mother's wedding gown, not music, not stories, Bernadette and her sadness, all of the things he couldn't stop from happening or his own attempts at perfection. He just watched the gold and violet slowly crawl onto Stan's features, so at peace and so at rest. He was thinking he was so content he could die when he felt his eyes water. His breath hitched, his heart giving a sudden violent thump in surprise as his dexterous hand rose to his face; his cheeks weren't hot, there was no warning in the back of his throat as there usually was and he wasn't really sure what to do.

The tears fell in sync with each other, racing down his high cheekbones and slowing as they eventually dripped from his jaw. He wasn't sobbing, he wasn't making a noise at all, really. But every time he blinked another fell and they were silent and quick, and he still couldn't concentrate on anything. His mind was still blank, his body mandating itself, maybe trying to warn him about a sadness he was not confronting or a great sadness to come. Perhaps that sadness would come as quickly and quietly as the tears the warning manifested into, but again, he couldn't bring himself to think on it much and so, he didn't really care. He let his head fall back against the wall, turning his tear-stained face towards the gap between the curtain and the window. The refracted light wrapped him in what he thought might have been a divine embrace.

_Don't think._ It told him.

_Darkness and pain is all around, and the stress, anxiety and terrible expectations you must meet are ruining you._

It made his heart feel like lead and his eyes feel hot as more tears came from him. He breathed out and it was shaky and graceless, but the sometimes toxic rays of the rising sun told him he looked beautiful.

_Bask in your pain and fall as if it meant nothing. Do not hesitate to put your armor down and allow the arrows to puncture you; the blood will mask the scars and if you find you can smile in the end, then the pain will be worth what you lost._

Was he thinking? He couldn't tell. Was he pretending that electromagnetic radiation was speaking to him? Was he just tired? Was he sad? Was he lonely? What is it that he lost? Or rather, what is it that he will lose?

He looked out the window, through the leafless trees that gave the sky the appearance of broken glass as he reminisced…

* * *

"Kyle! Kyle, wake up, Kyle, please!"

The redhead's consciousness responded as a scratchy groan; his hand rubbed in his hair as he reluctantly opened his eyes,

"What is it, Stan?"

He saw through the corner of his glazed eye that the time was two-zero-three in the A.M. That barely registered, though, before Stan's body came crashing onto his. He blushed, fully awake now with his voice raspy and uncertain,

"S-Stan? What's wrong?"

The boy's athletic arms were wrapping around Kyle's thin body and gripping him severely, his callused fingers digging into Kyle's back as he wet the front of Kyle's night-shirt with heavy tears. Kyle's hands found their way onto Stan, one in his hair and the other close by, holding the base of his neck. He knelt his head down, his brows knitting,

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know," Stan murmured, "but I was awake and I don't know what's wrong with me lately, Kyle, but I just…when you're not here I'm so…lonely…and you fell asleep and, Kyle, I'm sorry I woke you up, but I just couldn't-"

Kyle pushed the boy further into him, more violently against him,

"Don't be stupid, Stan. It doesn't matter what time it is, you can wake me…"

"Th-…thank you…"

"Do you know why you've been feeling lonely?"

"I don't know…you make it better, though,"

Kyle shifted under Stan, initiating the boy to shoot up anxiously, visibly expecting to be thrown off in disgust. Kyle fixed the pillow behind him so it would align with his entire back, then he leaned back again, his arms spread and welcoming. Stan crawled into the space between Kyle's legs, his back curved half-against Kyle's left side and his heated face fit into the crook of Kyle's neck. His legs were jointed at his knees that met over Kyle's right thigh, his arms lying in his lap.

"That's all that matters, then," Kyle replied in delay.

Stan smiled against his skin, "I think I can go to sleep now, but don't go to sleep until I fall asleep, okay?"

Kyle simpered, closing his exhausted lids as he promised, "Whatever you need me to do, Stan, but you'll owe me for this,"

He heard a slight laugh escape the boy and he felt his smile purify in pride.

"Thank you,"

___

* * *

_

"_I know there's been something on your mind, Kye. You know I can always tell."_

"_Not you; you never fall."_

"_Don't threaten me with a sore ass, you're the one who decided you like that, not me."_

He chuckled to himself at the memories; Stan truly was divine.

"_Don't be retarded, you are my buzz."_

"_You're just cute."_

"_You'd be okay with just…leaving? I mean, I'd be all alone without you, dude."_

"_You're just fucking amazing."_

"_Then I think you look beautiful."_

He blushed, the bird in the cage of his heart singing out gorgeously in response to the memory.

"_Can I…can I touch you?"_

His blush deepened, his hand crawling up to his bumping heart as he murmured to himself, "Stan…"

"_Really? That's what I love about you,"_

"…Stan…"

"_I love you,"_

He gave himself a mental slap; _No, Kyle! That was you deluding yourself, you were heated, you were confused and he whispered something…it wasn't that. It wasn't that._

Kyle could not save the world; he was bitterly, well aware of that. Kyle couldn't save Bernadette from her pain, he couldn't make Cartman a good person, he couldn't control his mother and he certainly could not belong to Stan. He was not born to wear that dress and so he could never have what he wanted most. Rather than wrapping wire around his neck, though, rather than complaining or bruiting, he could only perfect. He wiped at the tears still rolling down his lack of expression, refusing to let them take territory. He could never belong to Stan.

_I want that…God, I really…really want that…_

But Kyle could not have that. Because Stan was far more beautiful than him, because Stan was far more social than him, because Stan was everything he wasn't. Because he could not wear a dress, because he could not bear him a child, because he wasn't shaped like an hour glass because he was not what Stan was looking for. His heart cracked, paining his chest in terrible resolution; he could do nothing but be the best friend he could be for Stan. Like the woman could only perfect their home and her love for him, Kyle was only capable of perfecting so much of himself. He was at his optimum; he could do no more. He could only be Stan's best friend. And so he vowed to the radiation showering him through the clear barrier of silicates that he would remain Stan's best friend for the rest of their lives. And when the day came that Stan considered himself too old or too straight to sleep in the same bed as Kyle on the weekends, Kyle would cherish the soft, lulling rhythm of his breathing forever imprinted in his memory. Because beneath that mask of calm, lucid, sleeping breath there was roaring, wild perfection.


	15. I'm Better Than Fine

"So he dates much?"

Kyle sipped at the big mug of steaming tea before answering,

"Well, he doesn't spread himself around or anything; he's had his heart set on this girl from elementary school,"

"Do I know her?"

"Probably. Wendy Testaburger?"

Bernadette nearly spit out her tea, slightly choking, "Her!? But she's-she's-"

Kyle laughed, his brows curved sadly, though, contradicting his joking grin,

"I know, I know…she's not entirely a…uhm…the marrying-type, I suppose, but he's always loved her. I can always tell what he's up to and I can tell he's got something brewing to get her in his grasp again,"

Kyle had spent Saturday baking his Out-of-the-Closet Cake with Stan, of course his mother had no idea what they were celebrating, but that was okay with Kyle. He was happy someone knew; someone he trusted. Stan was called home because Shelly was visiting for the weekend; she normally dormed on campus at her college and his parents wanted to spend quality time with the both of them. He left reluctantly and Kyle eventually found himself at Bernadette's doorstep; desperate for company.

She leaned back against the couch more, the sunset's golden rays playing blinding chords of Magenta, Russet, Burnt Umber and Sepia in her auburn locks. She was smiling sadly too; Kyle thought it was interesting that they were both capable of that strange expression.

"Kyle, do you love Stanley?"

It was Kyle's turn to nearly spit out what he was attempting to swallow; he had a much harder time recovering from the attack on his air tubes.

He coughed violently, "E-excuse me!?"

She was very serious, though, "I'm wondering, Kyle, if maybe…I don't know; the way you speak about Stanley, the way you view him and all the time you spend with him, I just…I am beginning to think you are in love with him,"

Kyle stared wildly at her and she seemed to appreciate the unprecedented expression.

"Am I right?"

Kyle just gazed silently as she continued, "Didn't we talk about this once? You've known you were in love for a long time now, Kyle…never exactly specified a gender in your descriptions, and you're not exactly the social type. Especially with girls…so, it's Stanley?"

Kyle's heart was pounding, "I…no,"

"No?" She asked skeptically.

"No," Kyle repeated, "Not because I…I didn't love him…not because of that, I…I did, but I can't so…so we're just friends and that's all I feel about him. Stan's my friend. My best friend,"

She raked a feminine and manicured hand through her part; the sky was getting dimmer behind her as her slides of chocolate, silk hair ran over each other.

"You think you can choose who you love?"

"I think you can protect yourself from imminent disappointments,"

"You think you can prevent falling in love?"

"I think I can board up enough that the fall won't hurt and I can get back up and move on," Kyle's face had sunken into somber tones, "I am not prepared to sacrifice myself for something as fleeting as love, Bernadette,"

She smirked sadistically, taking her small white pill and telling him,

"Then, you, young one, are wiser than I,"

* * *

Kyle was beaming that Monday morning; Saturday evening was spent with his English teacher, reflecting and conversing with someone who was intellectual and wonderful. He knew that's why he appreciated her so much; she wasn't like the company of the arrogant Cartman, the flighty Kenny or the sometimes dim Stan. She was intelligent and philosophical and so full of wisdom, her manners and living space were impeccable, she was so organized and beautiful and someone Kyle empathized with greatly. Then Sunday was spent at another University, answering the seemingly impossible with ease and grace and being fawned over by professors and published notables. Professor Avinash had mentioned taking Kyle to France to study physics with him for a year, a Professor Boyd added that he could take Kyle to Romania to help in Romance Language arts while another Professor Palmer brought up, a little more than casually, that he was going to Swaziland for seven months and would enjoy Kyle's company during his teaching there in Advanced Biochemistry. Noted Author and Professor Moreno called attention to the possibility of taking Kyle to Tokyo University with him as a Student Teacher; the class, Kyle learned, centered mostly on the String Theory and mathematical proofs. And of course, Bernadette was beside him the entire while. At every invitation Kyle's heart would flutter with flattery and pride and he would squeeze Bernadette's hand under the table. She would smile, but never look at him; Kyle thought that was very old fashioned of her. But she was very old fashioned in a lot of ways.

For example; the way she crossed her legs and held her hands in her lap. How she wore her hair in a different style every day, but it was always classy and satin. The way she wore a dress or skirt every day; always reaching her knees at the highest. The way he could imagine her as an ivory silhouette on a cameo around some Victorian princess' neck. She was laid back when she was alone with him, he saw how she let her hair down when they were together without the company of her supervisors, but when they were with the others she was strictly professional. She smiled politely, nodding her head and listening carefully and always had something witty to say in her arsenal. She never pried, never overstayed her welcome or arrived late; he wondered sometimes if she sang about the house as she kept it clean and pearly white.

"What're so happy about, Kyle?" Kenny asked grumpily.

Kyle snapped back into the reality of his school's hallway,

"Oh, hey, Kenny; what's up?"

"Nothing. You totally missed it; I got hit by a train Sunday and survived and then a griffin swooped from the sky and tore off my head! It was crazy!"

Cartman was on Kyle's right side, staring at him through the corner of his narrow eyes. Kyle didn't really mind it; it wasn't his usual scowl, so it was actually more welcoming than usual. He turned to the brunette,

"What's wrong?"

Cartman seemed caught off guard by the question, replying, "Nothing's wrong with me, but what's up with you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean…you're kind of…"

"Sparkling," Kenny interjected.

Kyle glanced to Kenny, then faced forward again, touching at his cheeks,

"Sparkling?"

Cartman nodded, "You just look…healthy…happy, I guess. You look-"

"He's trying to say you look good," Kenny interrupted again.

Cartman blushed, giving Kyle a smile as he told Eric charmingly, "Thanks, Eric,"

Kenny's blue eyes widened at Cartman, his face beginning to widen with childish wonderment,

"Hey, Cartman, have you been working out?"

Eric nodded, "I joined Judo, but I'm still too heavy a guy, so I'm turning my weight to muscle and burning whatever's left off. It's showing?"

Kenny and Kyle nodded positively, "Definitely," Kyle commented.

Eric crossed his strong arms over his puffed chest,

"Well, dang, Kyle, don't make me tell your boyfriend you were giving me the googly eyes,"

Kyle blushed furiously, his fists curling in embarrassment,

"I was not giving you googly eyes! And Stan is not my boyfriend!"

Kenny laughed, "Kyle and Cartman-sitting in a tree- K-I-S-S-I-N-GAH-"

Kenny had walked into one of Wendy's clique members. She flipped her hair, scowling her lip-gloss coated mouth parted in the way every man read quite clearly as; "Yes, I will give you a blowjob,"

She wasn't very shapely; in fact she was awfully thin and flat-chested, but with such a tight shirt and short skirt, she'd attract anyone's stare. Once she realized it was the infamous Kenny McCormick that had bashed into her, she seemed to be very forgiving. She hugged him, giggling,

"Kenny! Are you coming to Danielle's sweet sixteen?"

Kenny nodded, "Yeah, of course,"

She smiled, but then pouted childishly, her fingers curling around the collar of his light blue sweater as she muttered suggestively,

"We've gotta make plans soon, we haven't hung out just the two of us in a long time,"

He smirked, "You got it, babe; you're top priority this week,"

She patted his chest, "Much love, hun,"

With that she cat-walked away and Kenny looked back at the other two, asking casually,

"What were we talking about?"

Kyle pouted, "Why wasn't I invited to Danielle's sweet sixteen?"

"You know Danielle?"

"Yeah…I did her project for her in Bio,"

Cartman rolled his eyes and Kenny sighed; they were both used to hearing stories of Kyle's overwhelming kindness being taken advantage of. Kenny shrugged,

"Well, it's because you're a nerd, Kyle,"

Kyle's frown deepened, "Huh? But I…I did her project! What have you done for her!?"

"I go to school, looking really, really hot. That's what I do for her. It's the gift that keeps on giving, Kyle, and you hide behind glasses and textbooks. That makes you a nerd,"

Cartman patted Kyle's shoulder awkwardly, not lingering at all,

"It's okay; seeing as Stan was invited, if you want, me and you could hang,"

Kyle tilted his head, "You weren't invited either?"

"No, I-"

"WAIT!" Kyle practically screamed, coming to a sharp halt, "STAN WAS INVITED?!"

Kenny and Cartman looked to each other, then back to the Jew as Kenny responded calmly,

"Yeah, dude, everyone's known since first period,"

"Everyone's known what?" Kyle pressed; still shocked.

"That he's in with Wendy's crowd,"

There was a long moment of silence before Kyle inquired in disbelief,

"W-what?"

Eric's thick brows knit together, "Yeah, apparently half the school saw them come to school hand in hand…Wendy and Stan, that is,"

Kyle looked to Eric, his eyes wide with distress until his head spun to Kenny when he mentioned,

"Yeah, and apparently he has so many classes with her that they haven't really been apart all day. Word is that she's getting him to misbehave in class to make him look cool; kind of noob-ish, but he's gotta get some teachers to hate him if he's gonna fit in with the rest of her group,"

The bell rang and Kenny sprinted off, "Gotta split! See ya guys later!"

Cartman stayed next to the frozen boy, though and nervously pressed his sizable hand on Kyle's thin shoulder; he was so tense that he shot around to look at Cartman, his eyes still wide. Eric took his hand away,

"Are you okay?"

"Y-yeah…I, uhm…I think…maybe my blood sugar is low or something, so I'm gonna…uhm…get something to eat and…"

"You want me to take you to the nurse? You're a pussy when your blood sugar's low, I don't want you fainting in the middle of the goddamn hallway,"

Kyle couldn't find the energy to yell at Cartman for calling him a pussy and instead responded steadily,

"No…that's okay…thank you, though, Eric,"

* * *

Avinash – France – 1 year – Physics, Ecology, Evolutionary, and Population

Boyd – Romania – two months – Romance Languages, Linguistics

Palmer – Swaziland – seven months – Advanced Biochemistry, Environmental Geosciences

Moreno – Tokyo – 1 year – String Theory Workshops, Mathematics

Lambert – Austria – ten months –Pathology, Chemistry

Garner – Belgium – 2 years – Astronomy, Geology, Geophysics

Delgado – Bolivia – three months – Archeology, Cell and Development Biology

Doyle – Denmark – 1 year – Sociology, Neurobiology and Psychology

Briggs – Greece – 3 years - Culinary Arts, Culture Studies

McBride – Sweden – seven months – Genetic Biology, Microbiology

Kyle was tapping his pen beside the list in his notebook. After his interviews on Sunday, he had returned to his mother with this list; she nearly fainted. She was so proud of him, celebrating every offer as if it was a certificate, declaring her son the best of all sons in history. Kyle smiled; his mother was cute from time to time. The offers that were made to him, he had to admit, were all very tempting, especially because all expenses were covered by the professors inviting him. Oh, when he had told his mother that, she nearly left the room. She had met Bernadette that afternoon, formally for the first time, and they got along perfectly. They all sat at the kitchen table from six in the afternoon to eleven thirty, trying to decide which, if any, offer he should take up on. Kyle still wasn't sure what he wanted to do with his life, though; he hadn't a clue to what career path he was pursuing yet. When he began to feel overwhelmed, Bernadette had this magical way of knowing and taking his hand-whether it be on the table or underneath-and she would smile and tell him,

"_This is why I brought you to their attention; we're all here to help you,"_

He sighed; life really was a dream, but he was still unhappy. He didn't mean to be selfish, he was flattered and engulfed by golden tickets flying left from right; he really was happy in all that. But there was something haunting about what he had heard about Stan. Was he really acting up in class to impress Wendy and her stupid friends? Was he really back together with her? Was he popular and invited to Danielle Whoever's sweet sixteen? Did it happen over night? Had Kyle been too preoccupied with his embryonic professional life's development that he overlooked Stan's blooming popularity? Suddenly his heart bumped in worry; what if Stan was trying to get away from him? What if Stan decided after their strange night of semi-romance and sexual tension that he couldn't be around Kyle if he was gay? What if that meant Stan was leaving him? He felt his eyes water at the thought; he quickly asked to be excused from class and went out into the hallway, breathing deeply against the cold tiles of the walls. His heart was still racing, his chest was still contracting in agony; why was he crying so much?

He blamed it on his hormones; he must just be stressed. All the quizzing, all the offers, all the pushing and pulling and Bernadette's sad eyes but warm hands and Stan's whispers and breathing and dreaming next to him, it was all just a bit much. That's all. He removed his fake glasses, pushing away at the developing tears and inhaled deeply, filling his thin chest as fully as he could.

_I'm okay. This is what I want. I'm okay. I'm okay. No one is going anywhere, you're in school, you're in class, you're safe, healthy and happy and you're okay. You're okay. Stan's not leaving. Stan's not going anywhere without you, so breathe. I'm okay. I'm okay._


	16. The Day We First Met

"Hey, Kyle, let's eat outside today," Kenny suggested.

Cartman nodded, taking Kyle by his unoccupied shoulder and turning him away from the cafeteria doors, smiling kindly and uncharacteristically offering,

"Yeah, Kyle, we should eat outside today; it's great weather,"

"It's ten degrees, Eric…"

The brunette looked to the blonde, both seemed distressed and Kyle could stand their treating him like a hospital patient no longer. He tore away from them gently, declining softly and politely,

"I'm actually fine with eating in the cafeteria today, thank you. I don't know what you to are up to, but," He meant to finish his sentence, but when he opened the doors he found Stan in the center table with Wendy, her entourage and around thirty other kids falling over themselves to talk to him. He looked smug. It made Kyle's stomach sour.

"You knew about this?"

"We saw it coming," Kenny replied for the both of him and Eric.

Kyle was devoid of emotion, walking through the doors completely unnoticed by his peers until he reached the bench he always sat on at their regular table. Cartman and Kenny glanced to each other; Kenny shrugged and caught up to the bookworm as the brunette sighed and walked behind him. Kenny wasn't entirely good at dealing with feeling uncomfortable; he just pretended like nothing had happened. Eric, however, had high social sensitivity, and had his stare stuck on Kyle in concern. Kyle would barely look up from his salad, his eyes low as his ears tried to block out the sound of fanatic teenagers attempting to woe Stan and interview him like a celebrity. Kyle felt another crack in his heart being made as he steamed inwardly.

_Why wouldn't he tell me something like this? Since when is he back together with her? And now he's too cool to sit with a nerd like me? Fuck him. Whatever. He's a dick._

Over the loudspeaker in the noisy room the Dean's voice came through somewhat scratched,

"Will Kyle Broflovski please come to room one-hundred,"

There was a click and Cartman cocked a brow,

"You in trouble?"

"No, I don't think so. They might be sending me off campus for testing or something…"

As Kyle stood Kenny inquired naturally,

"What should I say if Stan comes over?"

There was a short silence. The silence said a million different things.

"Tell him 'Good for him',"

With that, Kyle sashayed out of the room. Eric scowled at Kenny, muttering,

"You shouldn't have made Stan keep it a secret from him; you know how close they are,"

"Fuck you, Cartman, you wouldn't understand. The issue was that Kyle wouldn't understand either. Stan deserves this popularity and Kyle was…suffocating him, ya know? It's not like I don't like Kyle, you know he's one of my best friends, but he doesn't fit in. Stan does. It's like aborting a really cute baby that would've grown up to cure cancer. If Kyle got in the way, Stan never would have gotten his girl back,"

"Don't you think that says something about Stan, asshole?"

Kenny seemed confused, "What do you mean?"

"You're saying you made sure Kyle wouldn't know because if Kyle said something to Stan in protest, Stan wouldn't have gotten back together with her. It means Stan cares more about Kyle than he does Wendy or her stupid popularity. I think you've got ulterior motives for doing this,"

Kenny's face sank into a sly expression, a simper spreading,

"What could I possibly gain from this?"

Cartman glared, leaning on his forearms against the table and intensifying his aura of intimidation,

"You're not doing this to _better _Stan and Wendy's relationship. I bet you anything that you're doing this to _worsen_ Kyle and Stan's relationship. It's got nothing to do with Wendy; she's just a tool to you to get Kyle and Stan to separate. You and me both know nothing comes between those two faster than that slut. I don't know what you're planning once they split, but I know you're up to something,"

Kenny plopped his cute face into his palm, muttering with a low stare,

"Exactly; nothing to gain, Eric. And isn't this more your area of specialty anyway? And since when do you give a fuck about what happens between those two?"

Cartman abruptly stood up, "I'm gonna figure out what the fuck you're planning. You've been an asshole, Kenny; all these whores on you all the time has given you a head fatter than Vince Vaughn,"

The blonde laughed, "You're just pissy cause you're not getting any pussy with that fat ass. Don't put this on me; you and me can accept the fact that Kyle just doesn't fit in. Everyone has hated you since elementary school, so you knew you'd never make it up the social ladder; but me and Stan…dang, Cartman. We're really hot, we really like to show it off and we're both naturally awesome. We're good at everything we try, we can flirt and act appropriately with whatever group of people we're with…you and Kyle…I mean, you're an asshole, but Kyle's a shut-in. If it weren't for you, me and Stan, he'd be a nobody,"

Cartman lunged over the table, taking Kenny down to the floor; his gargantuan build easily overwhelmed the smaller boy as he pounded into his face. People started gathering and Stan was the one to pull Eric off the blonde. He was groaning as five girls knelt to his aid and he touched at his bleeding nose and discoloring eye. Eric tore away violently from Stan, his eyes fixed on the beaten zombie on the ground as he barked viciously,

"You're just pissed because he's smarter, kinder and better than you. He might be shy, you fuck, but he is not a nobody. Pitiful assholes like you who would rather slit their wrists than not fit in are the nobodies,"

The crowd of kids watched in wonderment and bubbling gossip as Eric stormed out. Stan watched his muscular back tense as he slammed the cafeteria doors behind him. Stan stared at Kenny, one of his brows perched,

"What…"

Kenny smirked, "You know him, he's just starting shit…"

"Where," Stan whipped his head around a few ways until he looked back at the blonde, "Where is Kyle?"

"Dunno, he said he had better things to do," He replied as he was helped to his feet.

Stan's forehead creased, "Did he wanna pass a message on to me or anything? I mean, I haven't spoken to him in like three days…"

Kenny shrugged, "Didn't say anything to me,"

* * *

Eric was storming down the hall, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles shown white. He was muttering profanities to himself when he passed room one-hundred and decided to stop. He looked at the door and the memory of Kyle's face as he left them at the table resurfaced in his mind. In fact, the last few months had contained many thoughts of Kyle, but before he could think more on that the door swung open, smashing him in the face and making him lose his balance and fall harshly to the ground. He looked up to see Kyle; his gaze transformed at looking at him. Eric had grown to know that was a specialty of Kyle's, something only he could do. He could wear one face one second and change it the next, but no matter what it was, it was beautiful or adorable or something of the like. Kyle knelt down, covering Eric's bigger hand that was touching at his sore nose, his thin brows curved worriedly as he muttered,

"Oh, God, Cartman, I'm sorry, I didn't know you were there,"

The brunette blushed, swatting at Kyle's arm with their connected hands before he responded,

"It's nothing; I probably deserved it,"

Kyle thought it was out of character for Eric to say something like that, but he was in too much worry to care much.

"Where are you going in such a rush?"

Kyle's prior expression plastered itself back onto his pretty face,

"Bern—I mean, Mrs. Barnes is in the hospital. They say she's fine now, but she had something like a murmur or something, I'm going to go see her; apparently she requested to see me,"

Cartman stood up with Kyle helping him by lifting his heavy arm over his shoulders.

"Do you want me to go with you?"

Kyle looked at the boy strangely, "Huh?"

"I mean, I could drive you there,"

"You finally got your car?"

"You know my mom; I ask and I shall receive,"

Kyle chuckled; it made Eric glad he could cheer him up.

"It was a white, nineteen-sixty-four ford Mustang, right? With the red interior, right?"

Cartman flustered, his heart unintentionally fluttering,

"You remember that?"

"Of course. I'm a good listener. You and Kenny and Stan don't give me enough credit,"

Eric nodded, "Alright, so you want me to escort you to the hospital to check up on your teacher?"

The boy's thick lips spread into a smile, "Yeah, that'd be really nice. I can't wait to see what it looks like inside,"

"The hospital or my car?"

"Your car, retard,"

"It's pretty fucking sweet, if I say so myself,"

"And you just did,"

"Yeah, so it is,"

"Huh?"

"Fucking sweet,"

"Oh…cause you said so yourself?"

"Yeah,"

"…that saying really doesn't make much sense, does it? I mean, the person saying it is really only in-putting their own opinion and assuming that if they say it's good then the other person will agree because…well, because they say so…"

Cartman smirked, "Yeah, and when I say something is fucking sweet, it's fucking sweet,"

Kyle laughed, "Fine, alright, I lose that one,"

Eric laughed with him as they walked out of the building. As luck would have it, a cold rush went by them the moment they stepped outside. Kyle gripped his upperarms, muttering,

"Right, ten degrees, forgot about that,"

Eric shed his coat and put it around Kyle, surprising him; not only by his gentlemanly gesture, but the incredible warmth his body created in it.

"Thanks, Eric,"

"It's nothing; I'm bigger and thicker, I preserve more body heat than you naturally, so it's not a big deal,"

"You just said that without calling me a pussy,"

"What?"

"You talked about me descriptively without calling me a pussy. Thanks,"

Eric hit the back of the Jew's head, blushing and stuttering, "Sh-shut the fuck up, it doesn't mean I hate you any less,"

Kyle just smiled, spotting his car and running to it excitedly; he seemed dazzled as he touched at the silver door handle,

"You gettin' in?"

"Eric…this is pretty fucking sweet,"

"I fucking told you," He bragged.

Kyle slid into the passenger seat as Cartman got into the driver's seat. Kyle looked worriedly at Eric again, inquiring,

"Won't you miss your next class if you're driving me?"

"Doesn't matter,"

Kyle crossed his arms, "You know I don't approve of cutting class,"

"Don't get your panties in a bunch, princess, I'll just tell them I was with the boy-genius,"

Kyle pouted, but didn't protest; Eric wasn't acting like the usual D-bag he was and Kyle figured if he tolerated it enough, Cartman might act nicer more often. As they drove out of the crowded school parking lot he heard Eric question somewhat shyly,

"Hey…uhm, what's a murmur?"

"…oh, you mean the heart murmur?"

"Yeah,"

Kyle sighed, "Well, they said she had a murmur, but it wasn't what she went in for. A murmur is a literal thing, really. It's when blood being transferred in and out of your heart sort of goes through…like turbulence and begins making noises. Sometimes it's totally harmless and doesn't really mean anything, but other times it can lead to heart difficulties and can lead to elongated heart beats or elongated pauses between beats which can lead to heart attacks or whatever,"

"That fucking sucks,"

"Yeah…but they said she went in for what she thought was a heart attack and while she was under examination in the emergency room, they found the murmur,"

"Do you know if it's bad?"

"No idea yet, but I guess we'll find out once we get there and talk to her and the doctors,"

* * *

"Where do you think you're going?" Wendy called.

Stan looked back at her from down the hall,

"I was going to go look for Kyle…"

She walked up to him, pulling on his arm gently,

"Don't worry about him. I mean, Kyle's always kind of been a loner, right?"

Stan knit his brows, "What do you mean?"

"I mean…he doesn't really try to make friends, and it's not as if he goes out of his way to keep the friends he has…he's not popular like us, not talkative or anything…he seems mighty fine on his own,"

Stan turned to face her completely, feeling his stomach twist nostalgically,

"I've never thought of Kyle like that before, I don't think-"

"Exactly," she interjected, directing back to the cafeteria, "You don't think about it and so you don't realize it. It's clear that he's got a bloated ego; it's like he knows how perfect he always is. It's the good grades and stuff; not to mention he's a teacher's pet. No one likes a teacher's pet,"

Stan's brain wasn't completely functioning; he was being hypnotized by how satin Wendy's hair looked and how flawless her skin was and how dark her eyes were. The feel of her against him was something he thought he'd never experience again and he felt blessed to get his second chance. He smiled; he would have to thank Kenny later. He sighed,

"You're right…"

"Of course I am!" She chirped, grinning cutely, "Come on, now, let's go hang out with my friends! We're going to see the High School Musical on Broadway thing this weekend and we could totally get you a ticket,"

Stan wanted to cringe, but suppressed the feeling and remembered Kyle going on a tangent about how much he hated those movies; the pitiful acting skills, the lip-syncing, the cliché storyline, the cheesy product of the entire thing. He wasn't about to disappoint the most popular girl in school, though, who, like a fantasy come true, was doting on him. Suddenly, he couldn't care less where Kyle was.

"Sure, that'd be awesome,"

* * *

As Kyle and Eric waited outside the hospital room Kyle arrowed through his contacts, trying to distract himself. Cartman leaned over, looking at the tiny screen.

"What's up?"

"Nothing…it's just…Stan usually texts me by now,"

"Hmm…hey, why don't I have a cool nickname in your contacts?"

Kyle chuckled, "Cause you've always been an asshole who didn't deserve a cool nickname. You can't have one now, anyway,"

"Why?"

"Cause I have to change the names to normal soon; important people are gonna be adding their contacts to my lists and if they see, Dr. S. T. Slim, they'll…I suppose, they'll think I'm immature. I don't want them to…I just want to be taken seriously,"

Cartman nodded, "I get it…well, I don't want a nickname anyway,"

Kyle looked up at the boy; his narrow eyes turned further away as his cheeks powdered with pink and he admitted,

"I like it when you call me Eric better,"

Kyle looked away bashfully, running his dainty hand through some of his locks as he muttered,

"A-alright…I could manage that…Eric,"

They both smiled, until Kyle looked back at Cartman, questioning uneasily,

"Hey, is your nose okay?"

"Yeah, it's fine, we would've known if you broke it,"

"…you know, you look a little mussed…you didn't get in a fight or anything with Stan or something, right?"

Cartman scoffed, "Why would I fight that twig?"

"I dunno…to stick up for me, maybe…"

Cartman's caramel eyes settled on Kyle, unreadably as Kyle immediately found his feet much more interesting,

"W-well, I know you and Kenny were trying to protect me from seeing that, so maybe…you were gonna try and…I dunno, it's not like I wanted you to, so…I was just wondering,"

Cartman's hand ruffled the shorter boy's hair, making him look up again,

"You're cute when you don't shut up,"

Kyle simpered, gently nudging him in the ribs with his elbow; he had already smashed a door in Cartman's face that day, there was no reason to be violent with him. He used the following fifteen minutes to change the names in his contacts which now included Eric.

The door opened, a blonde nurse exiting and allowing the two to enter. Bernadette was lying under the white covers, staring out the window; it took a few minutes for Kyle to realize that Professor Avinash, Professor Boyd, Professor Palmer, Professor Lambert, Bernadette's five supervisors, including the long-absent Carol Lucarelli and a doctor were also standing by the bed in the rather large room. She looked to him in unison with the rest of teachers. Kyle's eyes watered as he practically flew to her side, taking her still warm hand,

"A-are you okay? What happened?"

She laughed weakly, "You're funny, Kyle, don't worry, I'm fine. I had something akin to a heart attack due to some stress,"

"And your drinking, Mrs. Barnes," The doctor interrupted, "You shouldn't be drinking after such trauma,"

Kyle glanced to the doctor, then back to his teacher as she sighed in annoyance,

"I have what they're calling Broken Heart disease, it's when-"

"It's when someone goes through something emotionally traumatic and it takes a physical toll on their heart, normally causing heart attacks at young ages; likelihood of getting a heart attack after something like losing a loved one or getting divorced is increased when one is on anti-depressants,"

Kyle looked to Eric in shock; the brunette looked away, tucking his hands in his jean pockets awkwardly,

"My mom had it for a while,"

Bernadette squeezed Kyle's hand, regaining his visual focus,

"Kyle, we've been talking and…they're telling me that they'd like me to take off work for a while to care to my health…I told them…I want you to be my substitute,"

The room froze. Fuck, the world froze.

"What?" Kyle's voice cracked.

Professor Avinash stepped forward, "You're very well rounded in all topics and we found out that you haven't been skipping the grades you've been able to through your guidance counselor because you wanted to stay with your friends… by this time, you could have already graduated college with a doctorate,"

Coral spoke up softly, "And, Mr. Broflovski, myself and the professors have decided that this might be the perfect test to see if you're truly prepared for work in their areas. The moment you decide it's too much you are allowed to say you want to stop and go back to being a student, but Bernadette has expressed deeply that this would be a wonderful opportunity for you to…show us your strengths,"

Kyle's eyes flashed to every face in the room, all anticipating and somewhat stranger to him, until he looked to Eric. A familiar face, but an unfamiliar expression; he looked wonderfully proud. He was smiling gently,

"Do it,"

Kyle beamed, his heart skipping a beat as he looked to all of them, nodding his head violently,

"I-I'll do it, yes, yes, I'll do it,"

* * *

**AN: Sorry for such a long absence, guys! Hope you like your new chapters! To answer a question in the reviews; yes, all dream interpretations are real in all of my fanfictions (I use that a lot XP)**

**Thank you to all reviews, adds, favorites, PMs and fanart, it's been incredible! Thank you all so so so so so much! I'll update much faster from now on, I virtual-pinky-promise!**


	17. Poetry Month

Kyle jumped out of bed, showered as quickly as his body would allow him, devoured three pieces of toast his mother had made for him and he waved her off as he grabbed his very adult-like briefcase, straightening his tie and closing the door behind him. His glasses were fogged slightly by the rims from the cold that greeted him outside, but nothing could make him frown; not this day. He looked up to see Cartman at the end of the walkway that lead to the sidewalk. He was tossing his keys up and down in the air, his legs crossed and the small of his back leaning against his glorious car.

"Took you long enough,"

Kyle quickly approached the boy, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm your ride,"

Kyle tilted his head cutely, "My ride? You came to take me to school?"

He watched in fascination and admiration as Cartman's usual scowl melted into an all-knowing, genuine smile,

"No. I came to take you to work, Mr. Broflovski,"

Kyle's heart fluttered, his cheeks tingling and tightening around his ears, making him smile back somewhat awkwardly.

"Dang…you're really gonna call me that?"

"No, but I figured I'd give it to you this once,"

Kyle chuckled, "Good, anything with exception to 'pussy' is progress,"

Cartman laughed, ruffling Kyle's silky locks kind of lovingly before walking to the other side of the car, insisting,

"Get in; you don't want to be late on your first day,"

Kyle nodded, getting into the passenger's seat. He heard the click of Cartman's seatbelt and waited to hear the engine, but the sound never came. He looked beside him to see Cartman's maroon gaze in a glare. Kyle shivered, stiffening and asking impatiently,

"What?"

"Your seatbelt,"

"Ah, come on, we're like a block away from the goddamn school!"

"Could be a block away from death!"

"Jesus Christ, you can't even go more than a mile an hour on this street! Eric, come on, just drive!"

"Put on your seatbelt and I'd be more than happy to oblige,"

"Just drive!"

"Put on the belt!"

"Drive!"

"Put on the Goddamn belt or I swear to God I will gauge out your eyes with my fucking keys!"

Kyle groaned in annoyance, sharply pulling the seatbelt over his chest and securing it as he held his briefcase to his chest with crossed arms and a pout of a scowl.

"Thank you,"

He heard the engine. The car was moving finally, and Eric's voice returned,

"Don't frown so much, you'll get creases between your eyebrows,"

Kyle suddenly laughed; of course, nothing in the world could make him frown that day but Cartman. It was becoming somewhat endearing. Cartman grinned,

"Much better,"

"Fuck you,"

"Don't get pissy, princess, I'm your fuckin' hot ride. No limo's got the sticky hotness of my awesome car,"

Kyle laughed again, "That sounds like you have an incredibly disturbing private relationship with your car,"

Cartman sighed dramatically, petting at the steering wheel as they turned a corner,

"I'd give myself to this car any day, it's the fuckin' love of my life,"

"Have you named it yet?"

"No, I can't settle on anything,"

"Is it a girl or a guy?"

"A girl,"

"Hmm…ethnicity?"

"White…I was thinkin' she'd be a classy girl, a sixties kinda girl,"

"Hmm…Carrie?"

"Nah, reminds me of the movie…"

"Uhm…Beth?"

"BETH!?" Eric spat.

"WHAT?"

"Beth is a fat girl name,"

Kyle rolled his eyes, "How about Ellie?"

The brunette paused, waiting a long minute before replying, "Yeah…yeah, I like that,"

"Good, Elle it is,"

Cartman shot him a joking look of intimidation, "Don't sound too familiar now, this is only your second time riding in her, she's a classy lady,"

Kyle laughed again, "Sorry, sir,"

The redhead had barely noticed they were in the parking lot and it being so early, nearly all the spots were open to them. Cartman parked quickly, sharing a strange glace in his mirror with Kyle, blushing and looking away. The car came to a stop and they exited, Kyle's heart nearly jumping out of his throat. He gripped the handle of his briefcase tightly, his knuckles whitening and pulse drumming in his ears. He looked to Eric to find he was already staring, a reassuring smile telling him he already knew how nervous Kyle was. Kyle cocked a brow,

"Why've you been so nice to me lately?"

Eric's stomach twisted…

_Cause you're about to lose your best friend…_

"What? You don't like it?"

"No, no, that's not it at all, I love it, I just…I just don't know if there are…ulterior motives, ya know?"

Eric stopped walking, causing Kyle to come to a halt as well. He glanced to either side quickly, blinking and inquiring,

"What now?"

Eric stepped up close, cupping his large, warm hand around the back of Kyle's neck and brought the shorter boy to his chest. Kyle blushed lightly, flattered by the pounding sound of Eric's heart beneath his now very tough and virile chest and he felt a strange and unprecedented sort of pleasure at feeling Eric's other arm wrap around the tail of his spine, embracing him firmly. His callused thumb sort of pet the curve of his thin neck, brushing against his silky curls and he was consumed by the warmth of Eric's body; he had always imagined the boy to feel cold. He finally heard Eric's voice break the silence,

"You know your mom is proud of you, your dad and your brother too and your teachers and whatever…but Kenny's an idiot, way too much of an idiot to appreciate what you do and…Stan is distracted…so…I know what it's like to feel like no one gets you, or you don't have any real friends…even if it's just for now or just for today or something…but you…you're really nice and whatever, and you deserve to hear from a friend…that…I'm really proud of you,"

Kyle felt his eyes watering, but pushed the feeling down, allowing his hand to drop the suitcase and permit his arms to return Eric's gesture, smiling into his chest and responding lowly,

"Thank you, Eric…that means a lot,"

The stronger let go, picking up the suitcase and handing it back to his new teacher. He grinned, running his hand once more down the side of Kyle's perfect face,

"Don't go easy on me. I'm a little shit,"

Kyle laughed, taking the briefcase back, "I bet you are…don't go easy on me either,"

Eric scoffed, straightening up and walking ahead again, "Don't be retarded, I'd never give you slack,"

Kyle was quiet, smiling and watching his feet patter from pavement to tile. Eric looked to him, walking backwards and announcing somewhat awkwardly,

"I'm, uh…gonna go to my locker and whatever…so…I'll meet you in your room after school,"

Kyle nodded, "Definitely,"

"Maybe you, me and Ellie can hit the Drive-Thru before dropping you home,"

Kyle flustered a little again, his grin widening; his expression mirrored slightly more sheepishly on Cartman,

"You, Ellie **and I, **you mean," Kyle corrected.

The brunette grunted a laugh, turning around and replying over his shoulder,

"You, Ellie and I need to get more acquainted, Mr. Broflovski,"

Kyle scrunched his brows in confusion, his smile still stuck on him stupidly,

"We've known each other since like…kindergarten, Eric!"

He was turning a corner when he looked back and smirked,

"Yeah, but this is the first year I've ever liked you,"

Kyle laughed before telling him, "Fuck you, Eric,"

Eric chuckled and disappeared beyond the corner and Kyle took a deep breath, turning the other way and entered the Teacher's Lounge. They all greeted him kindly, and they all had similar questions; how was Bernadette? Was he ready for his first day? How has he prepared? What lesson will he be giving? What periods would he be teaching? Was he very nervous? He brushed off a lot, not expressing the inward seizure he was having and rather telling them he was more than prepared and greatly looking forward to his first day as a teacher. He shared coffee with his former math teacher who congratulated him on working his way so high up on Bernadette's "list"; meaning he had earned great respect from her. Of course, though, Kyle already knew that. His heart squeezed, his chest spreading and stare intensifying beneath the glass as he dedicated this day to Bernadette; she was weak now and it was his job to be strong for her, prove himself for her and be everything she knew he was capable of and more. He giggled to himself; maybe Stan was right when he called Kyle an over-achiever. What could he do, though? It was in his blood.

The day progressed and each class he had was shocked to see their peer in their teacher's place, but he explained the situation and word was getting around fast. He had Eric fifth period; Token, Red, Bebe and Damien was in the class as well. Kyle explained the situation to them, then interviewed,

"Any questions?"

He looked around until his eyes landed on the blonde, "Bebe?"

"Where do you get your hair cut?"

Kyle's expression sank in disappointment as the other classmates giggled and he told her,

"I cut my own hair, now, from what Bern—I mean, Mrs. Barnes left me, it looks like we were going over Poetry?"

Everyone nodded to themselves, Eric's stare was very heavy on him and he was incredibly unreadable. Kyle didn't know if it was his way of messing with him, but he pretended not to notice. He looked down at the lesson plan and some of the details Bernadette had left for him. He looked up again and asked,

"You guys wrote poems last week?"

Some nodded again until he added, "Well, she left me a note saying you didn't get to share…so…let's, uhm…circle-up,"

With that the students rose and followed his orders, moving all the seats into a circle, the binders opening up and kids flipping to their projects. Kyle simpered; hopefully he wouldn't go mad with power. He took his own seat, opening his attendance book and checking people off, glancing next to him to Bebe and said,

"Let's start with yours, then, Bebe,"

She blushed a little, looking down at her fidgeting fingers and starting,

"I, uhm…wrote about…the, uhm, environment…uhm…well, here it goes…"

She paused, swallowing nervously and Kyle couldn't help but feel bad for picking her first; he took note of it and told himself he wouldn't do it to her again,

"Only when the last tree has been cut,

And the last river has been polluted,

And the last fish has been caught,

Will we then realize,

That we can't eat money?

When you hurt a part of nature,

You find that it's attached to the rest of the Earth

But you're blind to the reality of it,

Because we've been blind since birth.

And as we stare with our blind eyes,

At this world that we have made,

We stay blind to the real problems,

That approach us this day in age.

I think that modern technology,

Owes today's ecology

An apology.

We're continuing evolution into a race,

That constantly destroys their living space.

Becoming black-lunged, sun blistered,

Ocean dwellers,

Our Earth's held up by collapsing pillars,

Of sand,

Being abraded by time and man.

If you think that we have enmity filled disputes over oil,

Just wait until we begin the fight over water.

There's so much pollution in the skies,

If it wasn't for our lungs,

We'd have nowhere to put it all.

Animals with no homes,

And plants without water,

And a future with no hopes,

For our sons and our daughters.

Plants and animals only disappear to make room

For our selfishness.

We say that we love flowers,

But we pick them.

We say that we love the beach,

But we pollute it.

We say we love trees,

But we cut them down.

And people still wonder why some,

Are afraid,

When told that they are loved.

The fire that burns in God's eyes,

Reflects upon what's been perpetrated by what he's created.

How much longer can we play these games,

Before it's game over

And we implode into flames?

How much longer can we breathe in this air,

After all,

The source of our oxygen is what we impair.

Our population has been over taken by want,

When the only thing we really need,

Is this world.

These are the simplicities of nature's complexions,

In fact,

This is the bliss we miss.

We can only fix what we've already done,

Our dying world burning beneath the sun.

Better a cruel truth than a comfortable lie,

Which we've all chosen to believe…

But why?"

The class applauded quietly, Kyle included, and told her, "Wonderful, Bebe, that was really wonderful," He looked to a blonde boy he didn't know, "Your name?"

"Loyd,"

"Okay, what did you think?"

"I really liked it, Bebe," He smiled, facing her, "The only critique I have is that you slipped in and out of rhyming a bit-"

"I was gonna bring that up too," Red pitched in quietly.

Eyes refocused on Loyd and he explained,

"I liked it cause it was sorta cynical in how it's so sing-songy, but so serious at the same time, and I think you should stick to rhyming through the whole thing or not rhyming through it,"

She nodded while Kyle called on Token,

"I really loved the last stanza and the stanza about the, uhm, the…with the line, 'a future with no hopes for our sons and daughters'…I really, really liked that stanza, and I actually disagree with Red and Loyd, I think it's fine the way it is. It didn't even really occur to me that you had stopped rhyming at some parts,"

Red, still not raising her hand before speaking responded,

"It's not that it's bad or anything, it's just that parts were awkward; like when she said that we'd start fighting over water. She stopped rhyming there and it just sounded sort of weird. It's totally fixable, but with poetry, it's supposed to flow and it got a little rigid there,"

"Yeah," Loyd pitched in.

Kyle looked to Bebe and told her, "Well, go on and popcorn to someone else now,"

She looked around and pointed, stating, "Damien,"

He looked up, his eyeliner accenting the terrifying red of his irises. He looked down at his paper and read,

"Stay there.

Wait.

He's right behind you,

Reaching out.

As your steady image fades.

If you just stay,

He'll be wrapped around your finger.

He's up against a wall,

Up against a wall.

The deafening screams fade to silence,

As the desperate voices plead you to love.

I've found.

You're eyes.

This world you built,

Will fall.

Apart.

He's been breathing in a new mentality,

So have you.

You're soon to find,

You're a touch out of place.

You pray.

This isn't really happening.

I can see the cries of the past,

As they creep to your unwilling.

Corpses.

This sickening tragedy to bestow on the heroes.

He had the whole world in his hands,

And he gave it away.

He gave it all away.

It's true.

I'm just around to see,

Where this thing goes,

You already know.

All I know is taking steps in a broken cure.

This forgotten curse.

I can taste the tears in the air,

All the fears of no more care.

Make your move,

It's safe to say,

Match in hand.

You're alone.

Burn it down.

Start the fire,

Burn me.

Rotting flesh,

Can you smell it?

The match won't light,

It's damp,

From the tears that forged through your eyelids.

Don't try, this world you built won't fall.

Its walls are too strong,"

The class went silent.

…_He really is the spawn of Satan…_

"That was…great, Damien," Kyle choked out; Eric tried not to laugh at Kyle's uneasy expression as he added, "Uhm…foreboding, but…great…uh, popcorn someone else?"

He moved his glare across the circle and picked out, "Cartman,"

The brunette blushed a little and Kyle's heart leapt in anticipation; he looked to the student and smiled kindly,

"Eric?"

"Yeah…uhm…no,"

Kyle was about to excuse him, but told himself giving his newfound friend leeway wasn't fair to the other students, and then he recalled Eric's own words,

"_Don't go easy on me,"_

Kyle suddenly felt a strange sexual undertone in the statement. His eyes sharpened around Eric's image, imagining his domineering smirk hovering over him, pinning him to his bed and in his masculine, deep voice saying, in a much different tone,

"_Don't go easy on me, Kye,"_

Kyle's face turned scarlet, shaking the thought away and inwardly slapping himself before he insisted,

"Eric, read your poem,"

"No,"

Kyle scowled, "If you don't read your poem I am going to assume you didn't do it and you'll get a zero,"

Eric simpered, making Kyle's heart jump again.

…_was he testing me, that little shit?_

"…fine…"

He glanced down at the paper in the blue binder, then back to Kyle, muttering,

"It's…short, do I really have to?"

The redhead nodded, "The length doesn't matter, Eric, just read the poem,"

He sighed, not looking up again,

"Stars shooting and souls screaming

All on the shoulders that against I'm leaning,

Beauty, bubble and cartoon pop,

I'd control it all, but it just won't stop,

In sync and harmony singing my melody,

Swirling in all the cosmos of atoms in my body.

Good day, bad day, no say or flight delay,

I'll try, but never hear, correctly what you say.

Games, cherries, bricks and changes,

Everything's flying by while I soar through the ages.

Wonderland, dogs and marching bands,

I'll ponder on it all with my feet in the sand

And my heart in your hands

Numbers, envelopes or someone's lone tear

I'll dream of how I used to be the king here,

But I stand here alone, cold and disengaged,

While you grip tighter, completely enraged.

Glasses, scarves and reality T.V.

I wonder what it takes to let you leave me be.

I'm hurt or bleeding and still believe you're right,

With broken glass in my hair and knuckles shown white,

Faceless, nameless or in picture frames,

Why is it me you want so badly to tame?

I worry about my heart as you cross your legs and sit,

Cause anything is weapon, depending on how you hold it,"

The class applauded softly again, Red commenting,

"That was really awesome, Cartman,"

"Yeah," Token agreed, "I really liked it,"

Eric looked up finally to Kyle and Kyle copied Eric's proud grin,

"That was really wonderful, Eric…really,"


	18. Losing Interest

"We've heard you're doing wonderfully in all your classes, Kyle,"

He turned to see his Advanced Chemistry teacher addressing him. She had a small plate in her hand, a bagel and a coffee in the other hand. Her short blonde hair was always so bouncy and shiny; he loved that. It made her look even younger than she was, as she was very tiny. He smiled,

"Thank you, Ms. Miller,"

"Is it very easy for you, huh?"

He shrugged, "I've got to give you guys credit; it's tough being a teacher. But it's been really nice; I mean, they're all an age group mature enough to conduct themselves responsibly while still seeking guidance. It's kinda cool,"

She giggled, "Look at you, talking like an old fart,"

He rolled his eyes, but before he could respond there was a knock on the faculty door. One of the art department teachers opened the door, looking back in the room to the water cooler and called to Kyle,

"Mr. Broflovski, there's a boy here for you,"

Kyle departed from Ms. Miller, walking over to the door and finding Cartman. He cocked a brow, closing the door behind him and inquiring innocently,

"What are you doing here?"

"You're on lunch,"

"Yeah?"

"So am I,"

Kyle looked down the left turn of the empty hall, looking back to Eric again, still clueless,

"And?"

Eric glared, "Come out to lunch with me, douche-face,"

Kyle's attention was finally focused correctly, "Oh! Uhm…sure, okay,"

He ran back inside, taking his briefcase; Ms. Miller looked at him and interrogated,

"Where are you going?"

He smiled, "My friend asked me out to lunch, so I'm gonna go get something with him,"

"Oh, Stanley Marsh?"

Kyle felt his heart sink.

He had forgotten about Stan.

What was more disturbing about that was that his mind and heart had been in such peace during the time he was free of Stan-related thoughts. Nine days. It had been nine days since he had seen Stan, thought of Stan, thought of how his hair looked against his pillows or recited poetry to Stan as he slept, watched him practice out in the field after school…nine days. He looked away, muttering,

"Uhm, no…actually…"

"Oh? I thought you two were best friends?"

_Super Best Friends._

He corrected. Kyle sighed; all of South Park knew that. They were best friends, always playful and looking for something to do and never being cruel or immature. What everyone admired, really, was the fact that they never bickered or called each other horrid names; that is, unless the other truly was whatever word they used. Which never occurred, of course, unless one called the other an ass or a douche-bag, but they reserved words like that for situations that called for it. Kyle and Stan had found a system perfect for them; they never used ill language, so they never misunderstood each other. Without misunderstandings there was fair trade, push and pull, in communication, building stronger trusts and they never mistakenly hurt the other by using messy words that could be skewed or twisted or misinterpreted. Every pair of teenage friends envied their sane behavior. He nodded,

"W-we are, it's just been…a little while since we hung out,"

She beamed, "Oh, well, have fun,"

He tried to keep his voice from inexplicably cracking as best he could in answering her, but wasn't sure he was so successful,

"Uhm, yeah, thanks,"

He closed the door behind him, looking to Eric from beneath his lashes, wondering why Eric always appeared disgruntled.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing," Kyle answered.

"That's bullshit. What's the matter?"

Kyle looked away as they began walking down the hall, muttering,

"I…you know Ms. Miller?"

"Yeah, she was a student teacher last year for my science class. Why?"

"Well…she asked me if I was going out to lunch with Stan…and I…"

Cartman's sizeable hand planted itself on Kyle's shoulder, making him jump quickly before looking up to the taller boy quizzically. The brunette smiled gently, his sadly curved brows contradicting his answer to Kyle's incomplete response,

"It's okay to miss him, ya know. And it's okay to be angry,"

Kyle flustered a little, "I'm not angry! I-I mean, I'm a little frustrated but I'm not angry,"

Eric's countenance didn't change at all, unless it became more sure or more comforting. It was pulling at Kyle's heart strings and he didn't know why. When Eric looked at him that way he wondered why the light twinkling in Eric's somewhat pained eyes reminded him so very much of the refracted light that embraced him through his window that early morning that felt so long ago.

"It's okay to be angry, Kyle…"

Kyle unstuck himself from under Cartman's hand, semi-glaring at him,

"I'm not angry, Eric, I told you, I'm really not angry!"

"You're not angry that Stan's fallen for Wendy's Goody-Two-Shoes act again? You're not angry that he didn't consider your feelings in getting back together with her? You're not angry he didn't tell you they were getting back together? You're not angry that he's barely acknowledged your existence in nine days? You're not-"

"You're counting…"

They had stopped walking, only staring at each other with wide eyes. Cartman looked like he been caught sneaking a cookie out of the jar before dinner. Kyle took a step back, his face feeling hot and a pain poking at the back of his throat,

"W-why are you counting, Eric? Why would you count? Why are you being so nice? What's going on? What do you know that I don't know! What's going on!?"

Cartman stepped forward, his hand reaching out to touch Kyle, but he stepped back further. Eric took his hand back to his side,

"I don't think Stan's a good friend,"

A thick silence split the air between them like lightning. Kyle's eyes were growing glassy, his brows furrowing and voice vulnerable despite his forced grin as he responded with an airy scoff,

"Y-you? **You** think he's not a good friend? W-why should I care what you fucking think of Stan!? You weren't the one there when I cried all night, you weren't the one there when –"

"And who was?"

"_It's okay, Kyle, I hear where you're coming from. You'd make a really good teacher."_

"_I know there's been something on your mind, Kye. You know I can always tell. I thought I'd stay over tonight and force it out of you."_

"_Of course; you're my best friend, Kye, my super best friend…I wouldn't change that for the world…"_

Kyle bit his tongue, his expression angry and his eyes watering. He grit his teeth in answering,

"I know what you're getti-"

"Who wasn't? Who wasn't there, Kyle? Who wasn't there when they should've been?"

"_You don't ever say that, Kyle. I will always be your friend. You don't think that and you don't feel that and you don't say that. I don't care if you're gay, if you're a girl, if you're Jewish, Asian or purple, it doesn't matter. Nothing, especially your sexual preferences, are gonna take me away, okay?"_

"_Nice try. It means I am a Super Best Friend, which is pretty much a soul ninja."_

"_Don't be retarded, you are my buzz."_

"Stop it, Eric! It's been nine fucking days! Stupid days that don't mean anything!"

"Don't mean anything!?" Eric shot, "Ever since we all met each other, when we were fucking four years old might I remind you, I can't fucking remember one day that you guys weren't together!"

Kyle's chest was contracting, but he couldn't form any words in protest as Eric added,

"It didn't matter if one of you was sick or the other got hurt or the other's house was falling apart or the whole fucking world was falling apart; you two never fucking let a day go by! Not without each other, not without texting, not without calling each other, not without seeing each other…"

He watched Eric's hand raise to his forehead, pinching the bridge of his nose and Kyle took note of the little, barely visible droplets making themselves known on his lashes.

"Look, I'm not an ignorant bastard; I can confront the fact that I've got…fucking…reliability and trust and abandonment issues…but when I was like ten I called you a fag or something for always being around him and you…I asked you why you went to each other's houses every day after school, even if it was only for ten minutes, I mean, you were just **always** together…and you told me…you said being with him was the only way you knew you weren't wasting a day…of your entire life…" His maroon stare stuck on Kyle again, making his heart thump in agony, "You were ten and you knew, you knew that if he wasn't there, it was a day wasted, a day you'd never get back and that **would** matter…why is it okay now? Why is it okay to not be angry? It's not! You should be angry! You should…you should be sick of him by now…"

Kyle could only stare wide-eyed as Eric finished, "You shouldn't want to be his friend anymore…you're really nice and sensitive and gentle and intelligent and clean and caring and charitable and not completely oblivious to the world and feelings of the people around you…and he's…he's always fucking shit up, and always making mistakes and always taking the wrong turn and copying your homework and using you and taking your kindness for granted and-"

Eric's eyes shot open, his mouth shutting up in shock when he felt Kyle's arms around him in a suffocating embrace. He was burying his face in Eric's neck,

"I'm sorry, Eric…I'm sorry that this is hurting you, but I don't understand why…"

Cartman rolled his eyes, "This isn't about me, this is about you,"

"But whatever it is, it's effecting you and I'm sorry for that…what…what do you want me to do?"

"I want you to…stop being friends with him, Kyle…"

Kyle peeled away, his gaze serious and surprised and hurt and confused all at once.

"Why?"

"You're too good…and he's too stupid…and I want…I wanna be there for you. Okay? That's it, that's all it was, I wanna be there for you…I wanna be there for you…"

Kyle unwrapped his arms from Eric's neck, watching his own left hand travel down Eric's muscular arm that would lead around his back. He had moved his hands to Kyle's sides, half-holding him. Kyle's spidery fingers touched at the boy's wrist, he took a half-step closer to Cartman, their chests pressing together lightly. He couldn't help the feeling of security in his hold, he couldn't help the feeling of safety wash over him. He hated it. He hated loving it. The same way he felt about Stan. Stan really was everything he normally hated in a person. Lazy, competitive, a bit dim, insensitive at times when sensitivity was vital, constantly relying on other people to clean up his messes, always making the wrong decision and never apologizing for any pain he caused. There was something different about Stanley Marsh, though. He would never say something terrible about Kyle, he would never intentionally hurt Kyle, he was Kyle's hero and **wanted** to be Kyle's hero. He was the only one that could get Kyle to laugh when all he wanted to do was cry, he was the only one who would listen to Kyle whine and agree with everything he said, he was the only one who would stick up for him, even when he knew he was wrong. And there was something in the way that Stan walked, and when he laughed, how his smile would get so big and meaningful and the way he hugged Kyle that made him feel alive and something in his very air that made the world crumble away and the sky would break.

"Then…I want you to be there for me,"

"Tell me the truth, then,"

"…I love him…"

To Kyle's pleasure, Eric didn't seem surprised. Not disgusted either. And rather than saying, "I knew it,", "told you you were a fag," or "who called it?" he smiled sympathetically and told him,

"That means it's okay to be angry,"

"You know what that makes me, don't you? Aren't you embarrassed? Aren't you freaked out?"

He shook his head, caressing the curve of Kyle's jaw and responding quietly,

"Not at all. I've always been jealous of you; you always had everything together, from your family to your emotions and so…whatever you are, whether you're bi or straight or gay or anything, or fuckin' asexual, I don't care, cause I admire you for it all and whatever…so…no, I'm not any of that. I'm gonna be here for you. I'm sick of Stan hurting you,"

Kyle laughed, shrugging a little, "It's only been nine days, it's okay for friends to not hang out every day of their lives,"

"Yeah, but you and Stan aren't just friends,"

Kyle blushed, hugging Eric again and cuddling into the tough space between his chest-plates, thinking momentarily if he ever imagined that fatty little boy to grow into such a strong young man. He was sick of hurting too.

I was distracted with my students and paperwork and school functions…chasing my career and getting a name for myself…that…I let my husband fall out of love…

He shut his eyes tight, fighting his tears away…

_Maybe he's lost interest in me…_

"You and me and Ellie need to get more acquainted…"

He felt Eric's smile form against his head,

"You, Ellie **and I**, you mean,"


	19. I'd Like To Say Fuck Off

**Sorry for the long wait, you guys! My computer got a virus and all and it has been hell to get these documents to save and upload! Hope you like your updates, thank you all for reviews/adds/fanarts/PMs and all, it's all greatly, greatly supported! Thank you all for the support thus far!**

* * *

The classroom flooded with teenagers, many familiar faces; Butters, Pip, Kenny, Wendy…Stan…

Kyle pushed his glasses further up his nose, trying to keep his face as unreadable as he could. Stan sat beside Wendy and two of her lip-glossed, manicured friends. He looked up at the head of the classroom in utter shock, and Kyle began his rehearsed explanation,

"Good afternoon, everyone…uhm, I know you must all be a little surprised to see me here, but, uh, to make a long story short, I was chosen by the board members to fill in for Mrs. Barnes during her temporary leave to test my teaching skills,"

"Why?" Kenny pitched in somewhat obnoxiously.

Kyle brushed it off and muttered, "Well, to be frank, they think I'm a prodigy and are using this opportunity as a test for me to see how much I can handle,"

He could see Stan through the corner of his eye; he was shocked.

What Kyle couldn't see were Stan's fists were clenching beside his binder, his stomach souring and irritation buzzing around his head. How could Kyle not tell him something like that? Where the Hell had Kyle been? Just as he began talking himself down to a calm, he heard the classroom door open again. He looked to see Cartman. He walked over to Kyle, a briefcase in hand, announcing to the teacher,

"You left this in your last classroom, Mr. Broflovski,"

Eric looked to Stan, sending him a very intentional, conquering glare before looking back to Kyle kindly,

"Best get a better look over your things, sir. Don't want to lose your lesson plans,"

Kyle blushed lightly in Eric's presence and in his being called, "Mr. Broflovski". He smiled, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, taking the case and replying,

"T-thank you, Eric, I'll be seeing you after school,"

Eric blushed; his perverted mind taking a different turn with his words. His mind slowed down the past few seconds, imagining Kyle smirking diabolically, slanting slightly in his stance with bedroom eyes, murmuring with underlying danger,

_"Thank you, Eric, I'll be seeing __you __**after school**__…" _

There was something so hot about being a teacher. He swallowed inaudibly, shaking the thought away, then grinning and replying,

"Yeah, you, Ellie and me,"

Kyle beamed; proper English.

"Yup, I'll see you soon,"

Eric looked once more at Stanley. Their eyes clashed in danger, Eric's maroon gaze overpowering Stan's azure scowl, saying a million different things. That he had won; to what game, Stan wasn't sure. That he was in the lead; to what race, Stan wasn't sure. That he had done right where Stan did wrong; again, Stan didn't know what he had done wrong. Even if all of those things were not what his glare intended, there was one message that rang true and clear in his demonic eyes, sending Stan into a terror spiral of confusion and unprecedented jealousy, a statement that read,

_"**Kyle is mine,"**_

Time froze for the two, as if all the lights in the world were out but two shining on them. Cartman smirked, turning back shortly to the red head and calling,

"**Kye**,"

Stan's heart sank; no one was permitted to call Kyle that but him. To his horror, the boy turned to see Eric,

"Yes, Eric?"

"I meant to ask you earlier, but…" He glanced at the room's company before finishing innocently, "…do you know how to ice-skate?"

Kyle's shoulders slacked a little, smiling as angelically as he always did,

"Yes, I do, why?"

"You…wanna go later? It's been a while since I've tried and I figured you're the only one left in this Goddamn town that still does cutesy, little-kid stuff like that,"

Stan's stomach twisted into knots, looking to Kyle in hopes of seeing anger and rejection on his face, for him to spout some insult covered in curses to tell Cartman off. Instead, though, he rolled his beautiful eyes and smiled reluctantly,

"Yeah, sure, as long as you get your homework done first,"

Cartman's smile spread, "But of course, Mr. Broflovski,"

"But of course,"

They chuckled and Cartman shot a nasty look to Kenny before walking out. Kyle looked to the rest of the class, shrugging and sighing,

"Well, uhm, Mrs. Barnes told me you guys were-"

"What the fuck was that?"

Kyle's eyes shot wide open, his brows springing up in shock as he looked to the voice,

"Excuse me?"

Stan's brows furrowed more tightly,

"What the fuck was that?"

"That was our mutual friend bringing my suitcase to me and establishing plans for after school,"

Stan hated that voice; it was so indifferent, it was so smooth and low. It wasn't the voice he had just used with Cartman. That voice had been kind of nervous, flattered and thankful and friendly. This voice was distant, adult and apathetic.

"From now on, Mr. Marsh, I would appreciate it if you do not use that kind of language in my classroom,"

"Or what?"

Kyle seemed confused, ignoring Wendy's wide stare and hint of a smile. Kenny's disinterested expression went unnoticed as well. Kyle walked up to his desk, taking a seat, muttering,

"As I was saying, Mrs. Barnes told me you were all working on your research projects. I rented out the library's laptops, so you guys can work on that. If you have any questions or need any help or anything, feel free to come up to my desk and ask me,"

* * *

The bell rang, dismissing their last period; Stan was hoping to stay behind and perhaps punch Kyle directly in the mouth, his aggravation coiling in the very marrow of his bones, but he was dragged out by Wendy who insisted they go to the mall with her friends. Kenny, however, found a suitable excuse to stay behind for a few minutes. Kyle was straightening his papers and organizing some files in his briefcase, distracted with that until he felt Kenny's stare. He looked up,

"Yes, Kenny?"

"You're doing a great job, dude,"

Kyle smiled, "Thanks, Ken,"

The blonde went over to him, sitting on his desk,

"So what's up with you and Cartman?"

"Dunno," Kyle replied through a shy smile, "he says…he wants to be there for me. Who knows, maybe he's just trying to make up for years of douche-baggery,"

Kenny chuckled, "Huh, that's kind of abrupt,"

"Yeah, but…I don't mind it, I mean…everything is happening so fast…it's sort of befitting,"

"So you like it?"

Kyle blushed lightly, "Like what?"

"Like Cartman being your friend?"

Kyle paused, blinking a few times before responding confidently, "Yeah. Yeah, actually…he's been awesome,"

Kenny punched the boy's shoulder in a friendly gesture, "Good, dude, I'm glad you're finally widening your horizon, ya know?"

Kyle rubbed the pitifully sore spot on his arm that Kenny had hit in good nature,

"Heh, uhm, I'm sorry, but I don't know that I understand exactly what you're saying…"

Kenny looked to his shoes, mumbling, "You know, you've always been so stuck on Stan it seemed like you were never going to be able to spread from him and have more friends. I'm just glad to see that you've got more than just one person to rely on, ya know?"

Kyle smiled gently, "Yeah, I get you…thanks, Kenny,"

"Don't sweat it, dude,"

"Well, if you want, you're welcome to come and join us ice-skating,"

Kenny laughed, leaping off the desk and brushing off his backside,

"Thanks, but no thanks, I've got a date tonight,"

Kyle nodded, "Don't spread anything itchy and terrible,"

Kenny groaned jokingly, "Please, refrain from killing my soul,"

Kyle laughed, "I'll see you later, Kenny,"

"Yeah, catch ya later, Kyle,"

With that the boy walked out, holding the door open for an expected brunette. Kenny didn't spare him a glance. He glared at Kenny's back, hoping to burn a hole through his back, but soon he realized it would prove fruitless and moved his focus back to the teacher. His expression softened at seeing Kyle; he couldn't quite place what it was about Kyle that made him like that, but every time he was with Kyle, everything changed. He didn't want to be mean anymore, he didn't have the energy or patience to come up with insults or anti-Semitic jokes anymore. There was something so fragile but powerful about Kyle's presence that he couldn't bring himself to cause him any intentional harm. It was like finding a wounded puppy; the only thing on his mind, in his heart that made his chest contract in agonizing sweetness was the need to take care of him. To make him better, to give him happiness. He tucked his hands in his jean pockets, leaning against the door,

"You ready to go?"

"Yeah…hey, can we go to the mall, Eric?"

"Sure, why?"

"I, uhm…" Kyle looked embarrassed; it was just too cute, "I kind of don't have any more formal looking clothes than what I'm wearing now,"

"You need collared shirts and ties?"

Kyle nodded and Cartman added, "Good. We'll go to North Park mall; they have everything, then we'll go ice-skating by the rink outside the mall,"

They stared at each other for a long while, a strange expression, unreadable look taking over Kyle's pretty face. Eric didn't know what it meant, and so he ignored it and pointed out the door with his hitch-hiker's thumb, "Let's, uh, go then, huh?"

Kyle nodded again, "Yeah, let's go,"


	20. My Best Friend

* * *

"How was your first day?" Eric asked conversationally.

Kyle smiled, "It was really good. Was I…was I good?"

Cartman pulled out of his parking space, muttering from over his shoulder,

"You did great,"

"Really?"

"Yeah, really,"

There was a short, comfortable silence until Kyle inquired,

"What was your poem about?"

Eric visibly stiffened, making Kyle's heart bump strangely.

"Why?"

"I…just want to know…"

Eric scoffed, "No, of course, it doesn't, it's not…it's not about anything, it was shit anyway. I just made it up as I went along, it's nothing,"

Kyle looked out the window, unsure of what to say. He turned the radio on, Ida Maria singing "Louie" echoed through the car. It would have usually put him in a good mood when he was feeling so strange and out of place. His mind was somewhat blank as they began making their way to North Park. The highway being somewhat clogged was his only coherent thought. Silence wasn't a problem for Kyle, but he knew there was something he "did" want to say, he just didn't know what. He was still uncertain of what to do, knowing positively that something was wrong, but at a loss to what…again. He felt his lungs tighten and his heart lurch.

_Have I always done that?_

He would do everything in his power to help everyone, but in the end, never truly know what they needed. Just like Bernadette, just like Stan, just like Eric. He wanted to be everything for everyone. Was he capable of that, though? He felt self-directed anger begin to rise from the pit of his stomach. He didn't know anything, did he? He didn't know that Cartman was a good person, he didn't know Cartman's mother was so ill for so long either. He didn't know Kenny needed an English tutor and he didn't know Kenny was really seeing so many girls at once. He didn't know Stan wanted Wendy back, he didn't know Stan…

He didn't know Stan.

Kyle's head became very hot at once, a nervous knot developing in his stomach.

_I'm okay. This is what I want. I'm okay. I'm okay. No one is going anywhere, you're in school, you're in class, you're safe, healthy and happy and you're okay. You're okay. Stan's not leaving. Stan's not going anywhere without you, so breathe. I'm okay. I'm okay._

He lowered the window, letting the cool air brush through his hair and calm his sickening face.

_I'm okay, this is what I want, this is what I want, I swear this is what I want, I'm okay. I'm okay. No one is going…going…no one is…_

"Oh, God," He mumbled inaudibly to himself.

_You're in Cartman's car—you're in Eric's car, you're safe, you're healthy and ha…happy…you're happy, so you're okay. You're okay, you're okay, Kyle, Stan's not…Stan wouldn't leave…just breathe. Breathe, please, calm down, I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay. Breathe. I'm okay._

He heard Eric ask,

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I…are you okay, Eric?"

The brunette glanced at Kyle before turning a corner, responding,

"Yeah, I'm fine,"

"No," Kyle pressed, he didn't know how to phrase it, but it got across what he meant, "Have you **been** okay?"

He watched Eric bite on some part of the inside of his bottom lip awkwardly, then, without looking at Kyle, he told him,

"No. No, I haven't…"

Kyle wanted to cry. Had he ever helped anyone? He ran a hand through his red locks,

"Is there…is there anything I can do to help you now?"

Eric stopped the car abruptly and switched the radio off. Kyle almost flew onto the dashboard, looking to him strangely,

"What?" Eric asked almost angrily.

"Can…can I help you now?"

He heard Eric's seatbelt unlock, then felt his own detach from the seat as he was taken into Cartman's muscular arms. He was being crushed by Cartman, but it didn't matter; the semi-pain was tolerable to earn the emotional response that he had elicited. He smiled into the crook of Eric's neck, feeling his eyes begin to water.

"That was…what I wanted…"

"I know,"

"How did you know?"

His voice was beginning to crack.

"How did you know I wanted you to hug me again?"

The embrace tightened, making Kyle exhale what could have developed into a sob.

"I didn't get them when I needed them. I can feel what you need, cause I know I felt it too,"

Kyle threw his arms around the boy, tucking further away into his warm flesh, his lashes beginning to feel damp,

"I'm so sorry, Eric, I'm sorry, I…I didn't know, I didn't know things were so bad, I wouldn't have—"

"Shut the fuck up, Kyle and just keep hugging,"

Kyle laughed at the harsh words coming from the now gentle voice. He obeyed the request for a while until he brought his hand up to Eric's shoulder and asked softly,

"Have I…have I been of just…no help at all?"

"You've been distracted with Stan, that's all,"

Kyle didn't think on that for more than a millisecond, responding,

"Fuck Stan. I'm sorry, Eric, I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, I'm so sorry…I should've been there and I wasn't,"

"_Y-you? __**You**__ think he's not a good friend? W-why should I care what you fucking think of Stan!? You weren't the one there when I cried all night, you weren't the one there when –"_

"_And who was?"_

"_I know what you're getti-"_

"_Who wasn't? Who wasn't there, Kyle? Who wasn't there when they should've been?"_

"Eric," He sobbed, "I'm sorry, I'm so…I'm so fucking sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,"

_I'm not okay, I'm not okay, I'm not okay…_

He felt hands move around, one clasping the side of his neck and the other combing through his hair. Eric's body was just the right kind of warm, his chest was soft and still tough, providing that security that Kyle had newly founded. His arms were a perfect combination of strong and gentle around him, not irritating Kyle's minor case of claustrophobia in any way, shape or form and providing a wonderful sense of capture that terrified Kyle along with the feeling that nothing in the world could ever make him feel as safe or protected again. He smiled, his heart notably calming from a race he hadn't realized it was in, his blood had stopped coiling and souring, his eyes felt heavy and rested somehow and all at once he was happy and sad and torn and together. He gripped the back of Eric's shirt into his balled fists, his dexterous fingers seemed to Cartman no longer strong, but seeking the comfort and safety he knew Kyle needed. And wouldn't anyone believe that Kyle quested for that feeling in the jungle of Eric Cartman's person?

"You were having a panic attack,"

"Was I?"

Eric nodded against Kyle's hair, breathing in his scent selfishly,

"Yeah, my mom used to have them a lot. She had a really good psychiatrist, though, so I'll find that number and we'll arrange something. Panic attacks really only get worse if you don't get medicated for them,"

"I don't want to take medicine, though," Kyle complained somewhat childishly.

Eric blushed, smiling at the immature statement and chuckling lightly before replying,

"It wouldn't be regular. You'd take it as needed unless he thought your anxiety was something that needed to be regulated daily…so, don't worry. I'll take care of it,"

Kyle reluctantly tore away slightly, remaining in the sanctity of Eric's arms but looking him in the eyes, disregarding the hand that stilled in his curls or the one that still held the back of his neck.

"It?"

"…what?"

Kyle shook his head, "It. What do you mean by 'it'?"

Cartman tilted his face, his slides of mahogany hair slipping over each other until he said,

"You. I meant that I'll take care of you,"

Kyle felt his eyes watering again, but pushed it down with the burning in his throat that he attempted to swallow,

"But I want…I want to take care of you now,"

Eric's low eyes shimmered, his smile and entire expression no longer demonic in Kyle's eyes, but divine.

"Then we'll take care of each other,"

Kyle had never been suggested a better idea in his entire life.

A buzzing bit through the air and they both flustered when they realized the compromising entanglement they had put themselves in. Pretending like he never had wanted to be that close to Eric, nonchalantly broke away and looked at his cell-phone. It had a blue bar on the top of the front screen, reading, "Incoming Call…", then below that was a picture of a little version of a phone, and below that read, "Mother". Kyle picked it up,

"Hey, Mom,"

His voice had calmed. His stomach felt empty and fluttery, like that relief someone gets after vomiting. Kyle knew that wasn't a pretty example to relate the feeling to, but it fit it perfectly.

"Yeah, it was great. It wasn't easy, but I had fun,"

Eric watched the back of Kyle's hand curl against his cheek, brushing away what wetness was left.

"Yeah, I'm, uh, really close to home,"

Eric's brows twisted worriedly; no, they were not.

"No, I'm not with…I'm…well, yeah, I could…I was going to go out and get more clothes…"

Kyle glanced to Eric, scratching at his neck nervously,

"Five minutes?"

Eric's eyes widened; that wasn't a good sound.

"Uh, yeah, I could get there in five minutes, sure,"

Eric shook his head furiously, trying to warn silently that they definitely could not get to Kyle's house from where they were in five minutes. Kyle hung up, flipping the phone closed,

"We've got five minutes to get to my house or I'm fucking dead,"

"Why?"

"Mom wants me to bring a sweater…"

Eric laughed, getting Kyle to smile at himself,

"You're such a fucking loser,"

"Shut up!"

Cartman resisted the urge to laugh harder and put his hands on the steering wheel,

"Alright, well, get ready to break some laws,"

"Of physics or legal—HOLY SHIT,"

He was cut off by the immediate turn they swerved into, Eric's foot pressing down hard and the windows being open was now morphing a face-lift onto Kyle. Eric laughed at the terror in Kyle's voice, turning up the radio again, blasting, "The Fuck Off Song," by Reel Big Fish. Kyle was overwhelmed by horror and humor at once, laughing but a nervous pit forming in the core of his chest. They were speeding down the highway, making illegal turns, Cartman refusing to use his blinkers or really anything that would help protect their lives. He hadn't even reattached their seatbelts. Every turn tossed Kyle into the door, almost out the window, screaming and laughing no louder or softer than the music they were roaring down the highway. Eric was curving past other cars, but couldn't work his way past their first red light. He stopped sharply; Kyle bounced out of his seat momentarily, his hair mussed and face pale and red, breathing heavily with a face of fear and fun. He looked wide-eyed to Eric,

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!"

Eric laughed manically, "GETTING YOU HOME IN FIVE MINUTES,"

A car arrived next to them, three guys and two girls in a convertible, blasting their own radio with the hood down. The driver revved his engine, daring Cartman to race. Cartman replied with his own engine, grinning wildly.

"THIS IS VERY MUCH ILLEGAL," Kyle screamed over the music.

"HOW MUCH TIME DO WE HAVE?"

Kyle looked to his digital watch, "THREE MINUTES,"

"PERFECT," Eric replied as the light turned green.

Kyle screamed as Eric laughed and they sped off once again, swerving closer and then further , back and forth, from the car next to them, both cars heavy with loud noises, music and the wind that practically blinded and deafened them all. The girls were screaming incoherent things at them, all of them smiling and clearly having fun with them and the guys were laughing and banging on the doors and dashboard, as if there wasn't enough noise. It wasn't long before Eric surpassed them and was going ninety on a rural highway with an unbuckled passenger, an illegal volume of music and just escaped an illegal race. They took another harsh turn and before Kyle could realize he had stopped screaming and was laughing, they were on familiar blocks. Their speed and volume didn't cease and Kyle's panic was not calming, it was just being replaced by excitement. He laughed out,

"WE'RE ALMOST THERE, ERIC, SLOW THE GODDAMN CAR DOWN,"

"KEY WORD IS 'ALMOST'! HOW MUCH LONGER DO WE HAVE?"

"Rip It Up," By Jet replaced the prior song, seeming to please Eric further as Kyle responded,

"ONE MINUTE,"

"WE'RE GETTING YOU HOME IN FIFTY SECONDS,"

"WE WERE FIFTEEN MINUTES AWAY FROM MY HOUSE LEGALLY FOUR MINUTES AGO, ERIC, SLOW THE GODDAMN CAR!"

Eric just laughed and went faster, making the car jump into the air, by minor inches or six feet, Kyle couldn't tell, but he screamed again and he was very soon in front of his house. Again, almost flew over the dashboard, but after gripping his chest and catching his breath, he looked out the passenger's window and looked to see his house. Eric shut the radio off, breathing heavily too, beaming,

"Get in there, douche-fag, and get me a soda,"

Kyle hit the side of Eric's head with a chuckle, "I fucking hate you,"

"You've got ten seconds to be on time,"

Kyle shook his head, laughing and exited the car somewhat wobbly. He got into the house, informed his mother as to where he was going and slipped a sweater-vest over his head, straightening his tie underneath and replaced his dress pants with torn jeans, and his shoes with converse. He waved his mother off after grabbing a Diet Coke can from the refrigerator and ran back outside. He tossed two pairs of skates into the backseat, exhaling deeply,

"Feel free to take your time now, I've got till eight to hang out,"

Eric grinned, "You're fun, Kyle,"

"Hey,"

"Yeah?"

"Call me Kye from now on,"

Eric blushed a little as he backed out of his parallel parking job that was half on the sidewalk,

"Any, uh, particular reason?"

"Super Best Friends call each other by names shortened. It's just sort of what they do. You got a middle name?"

Before he could comprehend the statement, he replied, "James,"

"Good. Jim, it is. Eric mostly, but when I'm screaming in your car, you'll be Jim,"

"This is weird,"

"This is having a friend,"

Eric smiled sheepishly, not averting his eyes from the road as to avoid his face turning any redder,

"A Super Best Friend, you mean,"

Kyle laughed, turning the radio on again, "Yeah,"

_

* * *

_

"I need a dress for Angelina's sweet sixteen," Wendy announced as they walked past Forever 21. Stan had learned that sighing was a sign of boredom and tamed some restraint in order to keep Wendy from having something akin to an aneurism.

"When is it?" He asked.

"Tomorrow,"

Stan chuckled, "Why didn't you plan ahead of time?"

"I didn't remember,"

"Isn't Angelina your best friend?"

"Yeah, kind of…I dunno, she's nice and whatever, but she says a lot of stupid stuff,"

"Everyone does occasionally,"

"Yeah, but like…no. She's stupid like all the time,"

Stan looked off from the girl who had practically sewed herself onto his hip, his eyes glazed with disinterest.

"_Happy Birthday, dude,"_

"_YOU REMEMBERED!"_

"_Y-yeah, of course I remembered! Calm down, dude!"_

"_Not even my parents remembered this morning! You're the first one to remember!"_

"_Oh, uhm…I'm sorry, dude…aren't you having a party after school?"_

"_Yeah…you know, I thought you'd be the one to remember,"_

"_Why?"_

"_You're the nicest, you know? I just…I just knew it'd be you,"_

Kyle remembered all of their birthdays. He felt an angry itch grow under his chest-plate.

_Where the fuck has he been?_

How long had it been since he had spent time with Kyle? Was Kyle ignoring him? Replacing him? He felt fury consume him when he imagined Eric Cartman, giving him that nasty look from the front of the room. How dare he look at Stan like that, and how dare he call Kyle by his nickname. He felt his anger mix with anxiety when he remembered Kyle's sweet voice respond to it. How dare he. How dare he respond to that boy when he called him by the name only Stan was permitted to call him.

"Are you okay?"

Stan looked back to Wendy, exhaling sharply,

"Yeah, I'm fine…"

"You don't look fine. Is there something wrong?"

"Well…it's just that…Kyle-"

Before he could finish his sentence she rolled her eyes and sighed,

"Really, Stan? You're with a beautiful girl who is absolutely doting on you and all you can think about is your old friend?"

"H-he's not my old friend! He's still my friend!"

They both seemed to comprehend that moment's oddness. Wendy was wondering why the Kyle segment of the sentence elicited such a response rather than the beautiful girl doting on him. She made a cross of a scowl and a frown,

"Stan, I mean…when's the last time you actually hung out with him?"

Stan tried glaring at her, but her face was so pretty that he couldn't bring himself to. It was so soft and curved so perfectly that making her warm, chocolate eyes reflect anything but utter bliss would not be doing her justice. He rubbed at the back of his hair,

"I dunno…it's been a week or something like that…I mean, that doesn't mean that we're not friends anymore or anything…"

"Well, you've been hanging out with me every day and that makes us friends, right?"

"…right…"

"So if you don't hang out with someone every day, but you say you're their friend-"

"Friends doesn't mean that kind of thing! It doesn't have to be that extreme, Wen, it's different,"

"Oh yeah?" She tilted her hip, stopping and planting a palm down, "Then what makes a friend a friend?"

Stan felt his brows tense and his forehead crinkle in thought.

Kyle made him cookies when he had a bad day, and Kyle played video games with him even if he knew he'd lose and Kyle would make him feel secure when he didn't and Kyle offered him every ounce of his heart when he needed it. Kyle would pull pranks on his sister with him when Stan needed to get back at her for something and Kyle would let him copy the homework when he didn't get it. Kyle would clean up after him when he was too tired to move and Kyle would go to every game he played in, even if that meant he'd have to stay up late studying and doing work. Kyle would tell him the truth when he asked for it and he'd sugar-coat things when Stan couldn't handle it yet and Kyle knew him well enough to know the difference. Kyle would wait for him to finish practice to just walk home with him and when it rained outside, he'd always give his jacket to Stan if he forgot one. Kyle always remembered his birthday and always knew the perfect gift and Kyle stayed awake all night for him if he asked him to. Kyle was his best friend. Kyle was his…best friend. His best friend? Did that really cover it? Or was Kyle the best human he ever knew?

"He…"

Was there any wording that?

"Exactly," She chirped, walking on, "if you don't make the effort, then you're not a friend, it's simple as that, and clearly he doesn't care enough to make the effort,"

"No," Stan started, "Kyle's not like that,"

"Oh, so I'm just dreaming that he hasn't talked to you in nine days?"

Stan's heart sank as he followed her. Had it really been that long? Nine days? His frown deepened and he heard her tell him sympathetically,

"Look, sometimes when people start to get popular, their old friends ditch them. It's really normal, he's just not mature enough right now to get that you're gonna be friends with tons of different people. You're like his little blanky from when he was a kid; he holds onto you to keep from having to accept the fact that shit changes and whatever and he's not ready to grow up. That's all it is, change is good,"

Stan passed Spencer's and he couldn't help but laugh to himself.

"_Come on, Stan, you're gorgeous, just go and woe some girl in Hollister,"_

"_You are totally doing the panties thing, I'm not doing that…"_

"_Fine, but you have to wear the candy bra,"_

"_Well, Stan, considering this is all going to end up on Facebook I wanna pick something that will at least look good on me,"_

"_Shut up and pick something!"_

"_Stan, lick your lips,"_

"_What?"_

"_Just do it,"_

He blushed furiously then, remembering the cross of terror and wonder that it caused him when Kyle ran his tongue over his hungry lips. That memory lead to another,

"_Stan,"_

"_Stan,"_

"_Kye…"_

"…_kiss me,"_

"_I love you,"_

What followed were blurs of grinding and moaning and tongues and mouths and the sexiest whimpers and murmurs he'd ever heard. He shook the memory away, looking to the girl and muttering,

"I really miss him,"

"Well, you're with me, Stan and you're not with him, so clearly you want to be here rather than where he's at. I mean, he's been ditching you for teachers and shit for a while now, right?"

"…yeah…"

"Good, so we understand? He'd be here if he wanted to be,"

"…I guess, but-"

"No 'buts', Stanley," She shot, "Do you want me, or don't you?"

His heart thumped, "W-what?"

"Do you?"

"Y-yeah…of course, Wendy, you know I've always—"

"Then stop talking about Kyle like you're hung up over an old girlfriend or something. It kills the romance,"

Hung up. On Kyle?

That grinding and moaning and gasping and smacking of lips reappeared behind his mind's eye and he blushed, his stomach dropping.

Was he hung up on Kyle?


	21. Scar Tissue

**Sorry for the delay again! D:**

**Hope you like your new chapters and the angst and action and amount makes up for the absence!**

**Thanks to all reviews, adds, favorites and fanart so far! All the support is SO SO SO SO SO SO appreciated, I love it so much so thank you to all those belonging to those categories! **

* * *

"Just put your bags on the snow, nothing's gonna happen to them,"

Kyle frowned, "What if they get soggy!"

"They won't, they're in plastic, idiot, just get on the ice,"

Kyle tied on his skates, sighing in defeat and dropping the bag down onto the snow. He pulled a new-bought scarf out that Cartman had picked. He felt at it and smiled; Eric had insisted they buy it because it matched Kyle's eyes. He wrapped it around his revealed neck, stepping out onto the ice and smirking as he swirled an eight around Eric, the latter stuck in the left oval. He looked at Kyle as he jumped and spun to disconnect himself from the pattern and skated backwards with his arms out playfully. He was very graceful and talented and Eric would have thought more of it, but Kyle was an expert at whatever he did, so it wasn't entirely a surprise. He muttered,

"A Figure Eight, right?"

"Or infinity,"

Eric cocked a brow, "Infinity?"

Kyle smiled and circled his own design that imprisoned Cartman, "A thinned eight is the symbol for eternity too. It's never ending,"

"Huh…that makes it much cooler,"

Kyle chuckled, "Yeah,"

Cartman placed the blade of his skate into the line drawn, his other and he traced over it perfectly, mimicking Kyle's jump so as not to ruin it. He looked to the redhead who was beaming kindly,

"Thank you,"

"Yeah, no problem," Eric replied.

They skated in silence for a while, Kyle closing his tired and glassy eyes, appreciating the pull of his scarf and hair behind him, his hands keeping each other warm on the small of his back. He felt himself curve and bump into a warmth. He opened his eyes, blushing a little and laughing,

"Sorry, Eric, I wasn't paying attention,"

"I know, your eyes were closed,"

"Yeah, I guess I'm just tired from today…"

The brunette ruffled his locks and said through a smile, "You're doing great,"

His mouth slanted, "It wasn't the teaching that got me tired,"

"I know, I wasn't talking about that,"

Kyle met ivy with maroon and found that they weren't as intimidating anymore. Those eyes were comforting now and honest. He gripped the sides of Eric's sweater and noted to himself the his knuckles no longer felt flab or fat and Kyle finally realized there was more to this,

"…Eric, why are you losing weight?"

"Cause I was fat,"

"You never seemed to care before, though…"

Eric's eyes lowered and looked away and Kyle tugged on his shirt to get his attention again,

"Tell me. I want to know,"

He seemed hesitant, but complied,

"I haven't had much to eat recently,"

"…why not?"

"Out of money,"

"But your mom--"

"Gone. I've been living alone,"

Kyle's eyes widened, "You've been living alone? Y-you…for how long?"

Eric laughed bitterly, "Since you guys rarely come over it wasn't hard to hide. I've been living alone for two years now,"

"Where's your mom, Eric?" Kyle's voice cracked in shock.

"She's dead, Kyle,"

There was a very heavy silence that fell between them, Kyle's fingers tightening and surely crinkling Eric's clothes,

"W-what did…when…but…"

Eric cupped Kyle's chilled cheek, heating it with his palm and callused fingers,

"This was a while ago. She died of Broken Heart Syndrome,"

Kyle's heart sank…

_"It's when someone goes through something emotionally traumatic and it takes a physical toll on their heart, normally causing heart attacks at young ages; likelihood of getting a heart attack after something like losing a loved one or getting divorced is increased when one is on anti-depressants…my mom had it for a while,"_

"…that's how you knew…your mom died of it, didn't she?"

Eric nodded, "It sucks when everyone hates you so much that they don't even notice when you've died or when you've lost someone. It's not your fault that you didn't know, really. No one noticed,"

"But, Eric, you've been living alone? What about your God-parents?"

"My mom gave birth to me on her own. Before she died she told me that I'm the lovechild of some high-up business guy who was married at the time and left me and my mom on our own, cause God forbid anyone take responsibility for me…" He paused, closing his eyes and relaxing his aggravated tone, "Anyway, I've never met my relatives. I wouldn't even know where to begin to look for them. I've never seen any pictures of them or heard stories of them and since my mom died, no one has come forward to take custody of me. Since I'm over sixteen, I'm legally able to live on my own now, so…so that's what I've been doing,"

"You're out of money? W-where has the money been coming from?"

"My savings and what mom left behind for me. I've been working on the weekends too, but between the bills and clothes and gas, I just haven't had enough to get food. Don't tell Kenny, he'll end up making fun of me now that I'm in the same boat as him,"

Eric blushed when Kyle very suddenly threw himself around him, his arms tightening around his neck, a hand wrapped up in his auburn hair and the other gripping his neck. Eric returned the hold, his thumb running circles on Kyle's smooth skin and his left hand holding the center of his back.

"Eric, let me help,"

"I'm not taking money from you,"

Kyle pulled away enough for their noses to be a few inches apart, staring straight into his eyes,

"Why not?"

"Because, that's fucked up,"

Kyle scowled, "Eric, my dad's a lawyer. And a good liar. He makes lots of money, it doesn't mean a thing to take you to dinner,"

"Take me to dinner? I'm not your bitch," Eric joked.

Kyle glared, "Let me help, Eric, I mean it,"

"I hate being cradled, Kyle. I don't like being taken care of,"

"I don't give a fuck, Eric,"

Cartman seemed taken aback, but continued, "…if you're really not gonna let this go, I'll let you buy dinner every now and again, but what can I do to return the favor?"

Kyle smiled, "I don't know yet. But when the time comes, I'm sure you'll regret making that deal,"

"Why?"

"Cause now I've got something on you,"

"I don't mind helping you, Kyle. I would've a year ago, but nowadays I'm happy to be here for you. Just tell me what you need when and where,"

Kyle didn't respond, rather concentrated on their hands on each other. Pressed up so close, their hands acting so intimately and lovingly, and gazing into each other's eyes, revealing all their secrets and insecurities with each other…they probably looked like lovers. He saw Eric tilt his head,

"What're you so red about?"

Kyle finally felt how hot his face was and stammered, "N-nothing, I…I'm sorry about your mother, Eric,"

He leaned forward and kissed Kyle's forehead, his grip around his back squeezing him closer and his hand leaving Kyle's face to run through his hair. When his lips pulled away, he looked down to Kyle and told him with a humble curve of his lips,

"Thanks, Kye,"

That look in Kyle's eyes came back, the one that Eric couldn't identify, the one that he couldn't read. Kyle was opening his mouth to reply, but before anything came out, they heard a voice yell out something incoherent. They tore away from each other and Kyle slid somewhat behind Eric at the sight of Stanley Marsh and Wendy Testaburger approaching.

_What the hell are they doing here? Are they following me? _

Stan thought to himself with a growing anger in the pit of his stomach. Wendy was falling behind, trying to keep balance as not to ruin her designer shoes in the snow. Stan looked down his nose at the pair, his cheeks red with frustration,

"What are you doing here?"

"What does it look like, ass-hat?" Eric bit.

Stan's expression sharpened, "Kyle. Why are you hanging out with Cartman?"

Eric stepped forward, further protecting Kyle behind him,

"You got a problem with it, Marsh? Kye's got every right to hang out with whoever he wants,"

"Don't call him that,"

Eric cocked a brow, "Oh, and why not?"

"Cause he's not your bitch!"

"Oh, so you called him that nickname because he was _your_ **bitch**?"

Stan hated himself for saying that out loud; no of course it wasn't true, but he couldn't phrase it properly without sounding stupid. He didn't want Wendy to hear him fight over something like a silly nickname and what it meant to him. Otherwise she'd think he was an idiot; or worse, that he was gay. Eric turned to Kyle, urging him to step forward with his encouraging eyes,

"Did you hear that, Kye? Haven't you got something to say about that?"

The redhead stepped up, beside Eric but could not bring himself to glare or scowl at Stan. He just felt uncomfortable and out of place. He knew Stan well enough to know that Stan didn't mean what he said; he was probably just fumbling for the right words and went on the defense like he always does when he doesn't know what to say. He sighed, his face neutral and stoic,

"Stan, I am no one's "bitch", and for that matter, I do not "belong" to anyone in any form. I had a really hard day today and I would have spent time with you, but you raced out of class today. I am not the only person who needs to hold together a relationship between you and me, you need to make the effort to be with me too,"

Stan blushed, his fists tightening, "You mean our friendship? Cause you and me aren't in a relationship,"

Kyle's eyes widened, tossing his arms up in the air, "Sure, Stan, our friendship, which, last time I checked, was a form of a relationship,"

"Yeah, but when you say it like that it sounds like we're like dating or something!"

"Stan, does it fucking matter? You've never been freaked out by the word before!"

Wendy tapped Stan's shoulder after checking her cell-phone, cupping his ear and whispering something incomprehensible from Kyle and Eric's distance. They heard a honk from the parking lot and Stan awkwardly announced,

"I've gotta go. We'll finish this later,"

"No you won't,"

Stan glowered at Eric, "You're not in charge of me,"

"You're not in charge of him,"

Kyle put a peaceful hand on Eric's shoulder, assuring him that he could handle the confrontation. He looked to Stan and replied,

"Don't talk down to me like that. We can talk later, if you want you can walk to my hou—"

"Talk down to you? What the hell are you talking about?"

Kyle rolled his eyes, "When you say 'we'll finish this later' is sounds like you're talking to your little wife who's gotten in trouble again, alright? It's degrading. Don't talk to me like that,"

"As if you've never done that to me before!"

"Oh, shut up, Stan, I've never done that!"

"As if you'd even know! I never tell you when you're acting like an asshole cause I'd feel awful making a complete dick out of you in front of everyone else!"

"Watch it, Marsh," Cartman interjected.

They shared a scowl until Kyle held back a growl and responded, "You tell me everything, Stan, I know you do and you know I've never been an ass to you. I suggest you leave before this gets out of hand,"

The honk sounded again and Wendy said through a chuckle, "Come on, Stan, let's just get out of here,"

The ebony-haired teen sent a last sneer at Eric and left with his newfound girlfriend. Kyle looked to Eric, sighing and putting his head against his chest-plates,

"God, what has gotten into him?"

"I dunno, but you've got to start sticking up for yourself more,"

Kyle pouted, "I thought I did a pretty good job,"

"Yeah, once I made you,"

Kyle glanced away, "Yeah…I guess you're right,"

"Don't get too upset about it,"

Kyle was about to respond but they both heard a rumble. He looked up to Cartman's red face and burst out into laughter,

"I g-guess it's about time I m-made you something to eat, h-huh?"

Eric's blush deepened as he held his stomach in hopes of it shutting up.

"Shut it, Kyle,"

He wouldn't stop laughing, though, he backed away a little, his arm outstretched and pointing at Eric with his other arm holding his own stomach in painful humor. Stan watched out the window as their car drove away from the scene and his chest burned with jealousy at seeing Kyle laughing and Eric rolling his eyes at him and barking something with a smile. He looked to Wendy,

"Sorry about that, Wen,"

"Don't sweat it, that was pretty funny,"

He would've corrected her, would've told her that it was a horrific happening, that it was a terrible thing that just happened, but she wouldn't understand. He leaned his head back, finally greeting,

"Hey, Danielle…where are we going?"

"My house," Wendy replied.

"What're we gonna do?"

"Smoke,"

Stan tilted a brow, "Smoke? Pot?"

"Yeah…I mean, unless you're straight-edge. If you're gonna be a pussy, we'll drop you home. No buzz-kills allowed,"

"_Yeah, I know, I've just been really depressed lately."_

"_Really?"_

"_Yeah. Sorry if I'm a total buzz-kill."_

"_Don't be retarded, you are my buzz."_

"No. I'll go,"

Wendy laughed, "Good, the girls will be so happy,"

"What do you do when you smoke?"

"Have you never smoked before?"

"…no,"

"Well, we usually just chill at my house cause my parents are always away on business. We eat a lot and watch movies, usually. Nothin' special,"

Stan nodded, "Fine. I'll go,"


	22. Love is the Shadow You Cast

"You know, I can carry some of those,"

Kyle rolled his eyes, "Nunh-unh, I'm totally your slave right now,"

Eric sighed, "I really shouldn't have let you do this,"

Kyle pulled out grocery bags from the backseat of Eric's car, grinning and walking up to the door where Eric fit in his key, twisted and unlocked it for them. They walked in and Kyle wasn't surprised to find the whole place a disaster. He looked to Eric and he shrugged,

"I'm lazy, what do you expect?"

Kyle exhaled deeply, "Looks like I've got my work cut out for me,"

"You're not—"

"I just paid for groceries and I'm making you dinner, I am so doing whatever I want,"

Eric just slumped in defeat on the couch, closing his eyes and shakily raising his tired legs to kick his shoes off individually. He smiled, his eyes still closed,

"What if I act like an asshole again? Will it put you off enough for you to quit?"

Kyle walked in from the kitchen, removing his jacket,

"Nope. I'm not quitting for shit now,"

"Gah…well, what's for dinner, then?"

Kyle smirked, "Skirt steak marinated in my special sauce,"

"Arsenic?"

"No," He laughed, "You'll love it, I promise,"

Eric sat up, opening his eyes, "Well, what can I do for now?"

Kyle hung up his coat on the messy coat-hanger by the front door, then put his index finger to his full lips thoughtfully,

"I suppose you should go get your laundry and bring it down, start a wash and find me the broom and vacuum," He took his finger from his mouth to the top of the television set and ran it across, picking up dust and looking at it quizzically, then sighing and adding, "Clorox and paper-towels too,"

Eric laughed, "You got it,"

As Eric got up from the couch and left to go upstairs Kyle turned back to the kitchen and set up his instruments. Once he was satisfied with the state of the kitchen and the beginning of his meal, he went into the living room and proceeded to pick up discarded shirts, open garbage bags filled with junk with expiration dates that horrified the neat freak and misplaced magazines, books and remotes. Eric reappeared on the staircase with a gigantic heap of dirty clothes practically overflowing from the basket. Kyle rubbed his temples,

"How could you possibly let it get this bad?"

"I'm a single, teenage kid living alone, idiot, does that really need to be elaborated?"

Kyle chuckled in agreement and Eric descended another staircase into the basement, delivering his basket to the laundry room and shoving in a first load into the washer. For the following hours Kyle would work between the living room and the kitchen and Eric's room and even the bathroom, cleaning, dusting, scrubbing and wiping every crease and curve of the house. As Eric swept around the kitchen table he heard Kyle begin to mutter,

"In the year of bated breath and lover's debt, there lived a man and his beautiful wife. And though they toiled in circular disintricacies and stayed the coming of any age time mustered, they loved each other dearly, to the threat of every deathbed and beyond. She spent her days singing songs about the house as she did everything in her power to create the best home she could manage of the sagging willows and bastard reeds she gathered for the husband she loved so much. And always, though he never knew the verses precisely, though he always knew the words to give her, though they sometimes meant the same with their smattered syllables and back traced fingers on the parchment beneath the pillows, always there were sweets on the table,"

He paused, running his fingers down the glass he was washing, "He brought them in her sleep, in his wake, kneeling on the floor for the morning. Always, arms thin but full, eyes wide but view narrow, their blessings as few as one with every beautiful and dismembered as the enchantment he suffered. A blissful zealot. She smiled when he made his prayers between her legs, when he tasted the divine upon her mortal tongue, and when he loved her from the inside out. She always wished at the top of her pitches for his ultimate happiness, always thought of how fortunate she was to love so readily and be loved so readily in return. 'Someday', she'd say, 'someday I will make a copy of you', though she did not know she was unable. 'Someday,' she'd say, 'I'll make you something perfect,' …"

Eric had stopped moving to listen; he had even closed his eyes.

He sighed, "When he'd fall asleep, dead of night or dark of day, she'd whisper her songs into his open ears until she too fell unconscious. She always rattled in the spiral of his ears, a broken figurine in an unlined case, but it tickled pleasantly; the bells, the tottering footfalls, the sliding doors and water on granite, all sounds and all things bubbling at the base of his neck. They kept the vermin at bay. They stood before the shrine, wet and desolate; his hands always played a part in the rhythms and functions of what, to any man, were as clear as water under a full moon. Clean and quiet, with the scent of sandwood,"

His brows creased and his eyes grew glassy at his reflection in the small bubbles floating away,

"But she could not bear perfection for him, unknown to him, and slowly her songs fell away. Her fingers limp and body numb, that evening heralded no whispers for she could barely breathe with so much wire twined like ivy about her whitewashed neck. She wanted so badly to give him a copy of himself, she wanted so madly to make something perfect…she waited for his return, arms thin but full, eyes wide but view narrow. When he saw her, she was bound and brittle, his thin arms fell and the floor was filled with the taste of pomegranate; he tried and tried and tried, his eyes so wide and view so narrow that in the end he saw…nothing…when he grew impatient, he was a craftsman. His fingers laid across the lacquer of her throat and the ripple of the wire, and when he tasted them he tasted the silver of the moon and the gold of the carp just beneath that reflection, there, just beneath that sleeping pulse… there was perfection,"

Eric opened his eyes, inquiring,

"Who wrote that?"

"I don't know…" Kyle turned around from the sink, putting the glass down momentarily, "I just used to read it all the time,"

"It's beautiful,"

"…yeah, it is…"

He turned back to the sink, thinking of how he was content here. He pushed some suds away to meet his own stare.

"_I know there's been something on your mind, Kye. You know I can always tell."_

…_would Stan say that now?_

He wondered. Would Stan be able to tell what was changing? Would he care? What of a life with Eric? Would it always be racing, ice-skating and home-making? Would Eric grow up to wear a collar and tie and would he support Kyle as strongly as he did now for the rest of their years? Would Eric tell him he was a good teacher, a good cook, a good friend? Would Stan be jealous? Would Stan miss him at all?

"_You'd be okay with just…leaving? I mean, I'd be all alone without you, dude."_

No. He wouldn't be okay with just leaving. He'd miss Stan and he'd want to be with Stan, always. His eyes lowered and his hands slowed to the beat of Eric's lulling brush against the hardwood floors.

_I suppose it's about time…to wake up…_

No more daydreaming? No more wondering 'what if…?'? No more lonely? No more dark?

…_he's not mine, he never has been and he never will be…he doesn't bend that way, doesn't bat for that team, doesn't care the way I care…why am I just letting this go? Why did I wait so damn long to wake up?_

He turned to Eric,

"Eric,"

"Yeah?"

"I'm happy when I'm with you,"

The brunette looked up from under his hair and under his lashes,

"…I'm happy when I'm with you too, Kye,"

He smiled unwillingly, "Really?"

"That's our secret, alright? I don't want people starting to think I actually like you," He joked.

Kyle's smile humbled, "I am so sorry, Eric, that I haven't been here for you,"

He shrugged, "I keep everyone at a distance…I mean, until now…it's not your fault, Kye. Don't think on it much,"

The timer went off noisily and announced that the steak was ready. Kyle grinned,

"You're gonna love this, Eric,"

Eric watched the boy bounce around the kitchen; so ecstatic to just be of help. Such classic Kyle.

_I could get used to this…_

* * *

Stan blew out a ring, laughing strangely with the four girls and Kenny. They were all sitting in Wendy's living room, MTV blasting out Beyoncé's hitlist. Wendy brought out bags of pretzels, chips and cookies and Stan was amazed at his endless appetite. He bit into one of the cookies, humming in grand appreciation,

"These are…like **so **good…"

Wendy laughed, "You only had like two hits, Stan, you're like tripping balls,"

Stan had never heard that term, "W-whuh?"

Danielle took a cookie and passed the joint to her friend Marissa, "I told you Dylan deals good shit,"

Kenny entered from the kitchen with a red bag of Kettle Corn, exciting Stan and Danielle,

"Oh, oh, pass it over here!" She chirped.

He gave her the bag after shoving a handful down his throat. She starting picking from the bag, and Stan's pallet watered in anticipation,

"Can I have some popcorn?"

"You didn't ask,"

Wendy stilled, then asked, "…wait…what?"

Danielle and Marissa burst into laughter, Stan chuckled, taking the bag and argued,

"You're not making sense anymore,"

"_You're_ not …making sense!"

"I'm…making...absolute fucking…shit…"

"You're making shit?" Kenny laughed out.

"Wait, what?" Stan asked stupidly.

The girls laughed again, passing it along to the fourth girl, Michelle. She grinned,

"What's wrong, compadre? You buggin'?

Stan shook his head negatively, "I'm good, I'm jus' thinkin',"

"Yeah? That's a change," Wendy giggled.

He tugged on a sleeve of her satin hair as pay-back before announcing,

"Like…why don't you guys do this with Bebe?" He looked to Wendy, "Isn't she your like…best friend or something?"

Wendy frowned and before she could speak Danielle interjected,

"Ugh, Bebe is a walking Kill. All she does is kill jokes and kill a good party,"

Wendy took Stan's shoulder, slurring a little,

"Look, Stan, Bebe and I were tight and everything a while back and whatever, but shit went down and now we're not,"

"Why not?" He asked curiously.

Wendy shrugged, sitting back on her white beanbag chair as she was handed the joint. After intaking and exhaling, she explained,

"Well, like, I used to be all about politics and saving the environment, Stan, like, don't you remember?"

"Yeah, I remember," He replied.

"Yeah, well, so was she for a while and whatever, and then you start to learn that you can get attention when you push your boobs together, and I learned that all the politics, that whole 'save the Earth' scene, the whole shebang was just a corrupted deal to The Man,"

"You sound like a hippie," Michelle commented through a laugh.

Stan glanced to the blonde, then back to Wendy as she went onto say,

"I mean, women are totally demeaned in politics and shit. Appropriate attire is a short skirt and lacey top, jewelry, hair salon-done and goddamn high-heels—that's what really got me, Stan. I mean, they make women wear heels constantly; they're just shoes that lift us up so that our boobs and ass are three inches closer to your face! Ugh, I was just so fed up with it all…I mean, I tried it and I sure got attention, but it wasn't attention that helped the Earth or brought attention to my political stance. Just got more assholes to look down my shirt and more perverts groping at my ass. I found myself making new friends, Stan, and Bebe didn't wanna keep up and whatever, so I left her behind. She's straight-edge and like so inflexible…ya know, I just got sick of her,"

Stan leaned against Kenny, "That sucks, Wen,"

"Yeah, whatever. She's the one missing out, so it's not like I'm mad or anything,"

Kenny raised the joint that had made it to him, and he cheered, "Amen,"

The girls laughed and Stan wondered what Kyle would say if he knew what Stan was doing. His brain was too fogged to imagine his voice, too mixed up to even remember his face. So he ignored the urge to think about the boy. Instead, they talked about the Two Girls One Cup video and Stan went on to vomit when forced to watch it. They laughed at him, and he wondered again, what it was he was doing.


	23. The Bird and the Worm

"The first week is always the most stressful,"

"You have no idea," Kyle sighed in response.

He was sitting across Bernadette in her home again, their hands wrapped around her giant cups and the house as sparkling clean and white as usual. She ran a hand over her creased, peasant, white pants and cracked her ankle. She was wearing a white, skin-tight spaghetti-strap shirt with it and her figure never ceased to hypnotize Kyle. He was still in disbelief that Mr. Barnes could ever cheat on such a beautiful woman. To Kyle, no other woman could ever compare.

"You're feeling better?"

She nodded slowly, "Slowly, very slowly, but yes, I'm feeling better,"

Kyle smiled weakly, "Good. That's good…did Brandon come to visit you?"

"No,"

He remembered seeing the man in the hospital. Kyle looked around the room and noticed the Xbox was gone.

"You're lying,"

"Yeah? How do you figure that?"

"The Xbox he left behind is gone. He must have come here at some point,"

"Yeah, I must have been out,"

"You've got nowhere to go,"

"Harsh, Kyle," She said incredulously after slipping a slide of auburn hair behind her ear.

"You know I know you're lying, why don't you just tell me?"

"Fine, fine, he did,"

"What did he say?"

"Nothing of consequence,"

Kyle sighed, "You really are so difficult, Bernadette,"

She smiled sadly, staring deeply into her tea, "He used to say that constantly,"

Kyle frowned, "Sorry,"

"For reminding me of the man I love? That's hardly something to apologize for,"

"That's not someone I want to be,"

"Then you won't be,"

Kyle paused, scared to continue asking questions about her ex-husband; as if she might spontaneously combust in anger, or she might shatter to pieces in sadness or she might just puff and vanish because she had nothing left. He wanted so desperately to help her, but he knew he couldn't. He was only sixteen. He was just a kid. There was nothing he could do.

"How are you so sure?"

"I think once you've decided to change, you've already begun your transformation,"

Kyle smiled at his green reflection and ran a hand through his hair. He exhaled peacefully and noticed the ticking of the clock when he stated,

"The poetry assignment went over really well,"

She smiled, "That's wonderful. What about the research projects?"

"They were handed in Friday,"

"You see? The end of your first week and you've already got a million papers to grade,"

Kyle chuckled, "Yeah, but I'm enjoying myself,"

"How are you and Stanley?"

Kyle frowned again.

"Uh oh," Bernadette stated, sitting forward, "What happened?"

"…nothing of consequence,"

She slanted her mouth, "That's a dirty trick,"

"Yeah, well, if I tell you, you have to tell me what happened with Brandon,"

She rolled her eyes, "Fine, fine, I'll tell you, but you go first,"

"But then I don't know if you're gonna keep that promise. Give me something to give back once you tell me your story so I know you won't back out,"

She put her mug down, taking her diamond ring from her engagement finger and handed it to him. He hesitated, frozen stiff at the sight of it,

"You've got my word,"

He took it from her gently and stiffened as she sat back, nonchalant again, taking her tea with her. She blew on the surface lightly, then asked conversationally,

"So, what happened with Marsh?"

"I, uh…I'm not sure. I mean, I haven't seen him in over two weeks now, he won't talk to me and we saw each other at the beginning of the week after my first day at work and he was with Wendy. They were at North Park Mall, and I was there with Eric,"

She looked up, "He's a great writer,"

"I know, I've seen some of his work recently…I never knew before,"

"Funny, the kinds of things people hide because of irrational fears and insecurities. So you went to the mall with him and just bumped into them?"

"No, Eric and I were ice-skating and Stan marched up to us, pissed as I've ever seen him…he left pretty soon afterward, though. He hasn't spoken to me since then and his poetry project was good, but he stopped doing the homework this week, failed a pop quiz on To Kill a Mockingbird and barely scratched by on the mandatory criteria for a research project; I mean, he didn't hand in a bibliography, no visual aid, no rough draft…I think it's cause he's been hanging out with Wendy and her crew so much. I don't know that they're a great influence on him. In any case, he hasn't spoken to me since then and I'm not entirely keen on talking to him either,"

"Hmm," She started thoughtfully, "you think it's—"

"I'm over him, anyway,"

There was a thick silence. Bernadette stared at him blandly,

"What?"

"You heard me. I don't care w-what he's got to say or why he's doing whatever he's doing,"

"Jeez, Kyle, I thought you were smarter than that,"

"Huh?"

She shook her head, "You can't just stop loving someone cause you want to. If that were possible, I would've stopped loving Brandon a while back, kiddo. You know you still care and lying to yourself is a waste of energy and brain cells,"

"Y-you see, you can say that cause your love has already passed, Bernadette, you already leapt without looking, you already took that risk, but what about me? I've never risked more than twenty bucks on anything! I put my faith in him, I put my heart in his hands and what if he crushes it? What if I regret ever trusting him? What if it turns into a huge mistake?"

She smiled, her eyes softening sympathetically,

"You're right. You know, you're a straight-shooter, Kyle, so I'm not gonna sugarcoat this for you," She leaned forward, her legs falling over the edge of the couch, "Yeah. You might get disappointed, you might be heartbroken, you might regret trusting him, it might be a huge mistake," Her lips spread into a vicious smile, her face torn between nostalgic pain and happiness, her eyes twinkling with wisdom Kyle could only hope to possess someday, "But falling in love is the best mistake you can ever make, Kyle. No matter how much it hurts to make, it's always worth it,"

He sat back in a huff, crossing his arms over his chest,

"What happened with Brandon?"

"He came to see if I was okay,"

"And?"

"And that's all,"

"That's all?" He asked, unconvinced.

She thought back, her eyes fading to her side…

* * *

The sunlight was spilling messily into the room from the wavering curtains, everything white and sterile just like her home. She was staring at her hand that held the twinkling ring that promised her undying devotion and love, that represented the everlasting loyalty and adoration of her life-long love. The love that left. She felt her heart bump strangely and placed her right hand over the motor running to keep her in her pain. She sighed, contemplating using the energy to stretch her arm out to get her glass of water, but lately she could hardly bring herself to take another breath. She stiffened at the sound of the door opening, and assuming it was her physician, she called out,

"Hey, tell Avinash I still plan on my trip to Paris this upcoming vacation and up the pain-meds, huh?"

The curtain cutting her away from the rest of the room slid to the side and revealed her love. His dark brown hair was growing out a little longer than she remembered and he was wearing clothes she didn't recognize.

"Oh…"

There was a silence that followed. What was she to say? Beg him to stay? Cry about his betrayals? Moan for him to remain? Mourn her losses to him? Tell him to come back? She didn't need to think on it long before he asked,

"What the hell are you doing here, Bernadette?"

"Oh, Brandon, skip the formalities, just get to the point already,"

They would have laughed if they were still together. Bernadette thought it was odd how when a couple splits, old jokes are somehow disgusting and stupid.

"I had a momentary lapse in my chest cavity, Brandon. A heart attack,"

He sat by the edge of her bed, looking down at the tiles,

"…you're too young for a heart attack,"

"Not a bad heart, Brandon, I've got a great heart. It was,Takotsubo cardiomyopathy,"

"It was what?"

"…Broken Heart Syndrome,"

He scoffed, "You just never quit, do you?"

"I don't know what you're implying by that," She said, looking off, "but that's what I was diagnosed with. How's Staci?"

He scowled, "Don't fuck around with me, Bernadette,"

She shrugged, "I wasn't. I'm asking. I mean, she must be a thrill in the sack,"

"Hey, watch it—" He started, standing.

"I mean, younger, prettier, easier, I'm sure she's just a blast,"

"You shut your mouth, Bernadette,"

They stared at each other and he took a step back at her eyes narrowing,

"You're right. As you always are, Brandon,"

There was another silence and the breeze brushed past the two. Bernadette touched at her long hair,

"I had heart failure because I'm depressed and anxious constantly and I've been mixing my meds carelessly with alcohol. It was my own stupidity that brought me here. You can leave now,"

Brandon frowned deeply, "…you know you aren't stupid,"

"Oh, just leave already,"

Brandon stepped closer again,

"I came to see if you were okay,"

"And now you see that I am, so you can go,"

"No, now I see that you aren't…"

He felt a spear of guilt fly through his chest when he noticed her eyes watering.

"Bernadette?"

"Why won't you go?!" She snapped, forcing her tears back.

He stepped closer yet, "Why won't you cry!? You were going to! I saw it, cry to me, Bernadette, you know I'm here for you,"

"I was not about to cry," She mumbled, looking away.

"You see? This is what tore us apart! You would never open up to me, you'd never rely on me! You always let your pride get in between us!"

"Oh, that's what tore us apart, Brandon? I thought it was you smashing yourself into your secretary that finished us, but oh-ho, now I guess I know the truth!"

He flushed slightly, "I slept with Staci out of a desperate act—"

"Desperate? Holy shit, Brandon…I don't want to talk about this anymore, Brandon, just go,"

"Why? Why can't we talk?" He pressed.

"Because when I imagine you with another woman, it makes me feel sick! I can't—anh!" She clutched her chest and the monitor dipped in speed and sound then began to race. Brandon rushed to her side, taking note of her ring finger still fashioning their physically manifested vows. He felt sick; vows he didn't keep. She slapped his hand away from hers, tears finally rushing down her face and he pushed forward to kiss her. Her feminine digits caught his lips and she went on to whisper repeatedly, "No, no, no…"

He ignored her begging and kissed her roughly, and he felt his own eyes begin to water when he heard her heart rate calm. She pushed him away; just like she always did.

"You've got a girlfriend, Brandon Barnes, it would be irresponsible of you to—"

"She's not my girlfriend, Bernadette,"

"Oh, she's just your whore. Alright, I think it's about time you left," She wiped at the water still traveling down her pretty face.

"She's a mistake, Bernadette,"

"I suppose the divorce papers you filed and all those signatures were mistakes too? Just screw-ups you took too far?"

She was sobbing and he felt like a villain.

"I know you wanted children, Brandon…"

His eyes widened, "Who…?"

"Your mother. And I couldn't do it, Brandon…and I couldn't bare to take a fertility test, I didn't want to hear what I already knew…but I bet Staci can give you beautiful children. And I bet," she gasped to take control over her flooding tears, "you'll be very happy without a vain, haughty sociopath for a wife who ruined your marriage for you,"

He was on his knees, bent over her bedside, "Why won't you ask me to come back?"

"Oh, Brandon…you've grown out your hair," She touched at it.

He looked up to her from his crossed arms, "And I suppose she bought those clothes too…"

He didn't answer.

"You've begun to move on, Brandon…I begged you to come back and you wouldn't, and you are the one who moved out, I never forced you anywhere…all I ever wanted was for you to stay with me, but you left no matter what I said. This isn't my doing. Not mine entirely. Just go out with Staci, get married again and pump out your goddamn heirs and I'll drink ten years off my life and maybe five years from now we can see each other at a high-school reunion, smile awkwardly at each other and then when the fantasies start to play out in my head, your wife will wrap her arms around you and talk about all your success. And I'll watch you leave early, cause you don't want the goddamn baby-sitter worrying. And I'll find something to do. Grading papers and paying off the house, maybe get a second job. But for now, I have to stay here and sleep…because I had a fucking heart attack when I realized you left,"

He pushed away his own tears, "You are the only woman I ever loved…you're the only woman I do love, the only one I want to love…"

"Oh, God, is that the line that got Staci in bed?" She paused, their gazes meeting in mutual anguish, "I'm sorry, Brandon, that wasn't…sorry. I suppose it's about time I was grown up enough to know when to shut up,"

"You were grown up enough for both of us…you were grown up before I was. I was immature, I fucked up…"

"Why are you here?"

"…I want you to forgive me,"

"I never held anything against you, Brandon,"

He cocked a brow, "What are you talking about?"

"I meant what I said; all I ever wanted was for you to stay with me…I never wished anything ill to befall you or her…I just want you to be happy. There's nothing to be forgiven for,"

"…so you'll take me—"

The door slammed open and Brandon jumped to his feet, brushing away residue from his face. The doctor came in, straightening his white coat,

"Visiting hours are over, sir,"

"Yes, uhm," He shared a last look with her and his heart broken a thousand times, "I'll be seeing you,"

She looked away, tears still rolling down her rosy cheeks. Without a response, he left and Bernadette's sadness lulled her to sleep.

"Pretty much. I told him off, after all, he came to the hospital with his goddamn secretary,"

Kyle shook his head in disdain, "Putrid. Just putrid. You're so strong, Bernadette, never wavering or showing any weakness—I wanna be like you someday,"

She smiled pitifully, "That'd be horribly ironic, Kyle,"


	24. The World Ends With You

Kyle sighed, putting the pile of papers down on his desk and sliding up his fake glasses on the bridge of his nose. He looked up, identifying everyone and jotting down attendance, waiting for the bell to ring. He knew that eight to ten minutes after the bell would ring, Eric would bring him his briefcase, like he always would. In truth, Kyle had remembered his suitcase all the rest of the days after his first day, but he liked the idea of getting a visit from Eric every day and being called by him "Mr. Broflovski". The bell rang, then and he announced as the class silenced,

"Well, I spent all of Sunday grading your research projects and, uh…well, you either failed miserably or exceeded my expectations. So I guess I'll hand them out,"

He went by row, never lingering on any one desk. Kenny hadn't handed one in, Wendy's was a passing but unimpressive grade, Danielle failed, Michelle passed but Kyle had reason to believe she had someone else write it for her, Marissa passed barely and Stan…had failed. Knowing Stan there would be an outburst, but he was determined to keep his cool.

_Like Bernadette…_

He wouldn't waver, or show weakness to Stan. As he handed the papers out and murmuring and grade-sharing ensued he thought of his Saturday. He had realized Friday night after returning from Bernadette's house that he still had her ring. He was home alone and went to call Stan, but he froze when he went to dial. His fingers refused to move and he realized he had forgotten Stan's number. He looked at the phone blankly for twenty minutes, then stared at his ring finger that fit in Bernadette's ring perfectly. He, rather than calling Eric, took out that cursed wedding dress that belonged to his mother and admired his hand from far away. He was on his stomach, one leg bent and twisting his ankle girlishly as he stretched his arm out in front of him, looking at the ring. He tilted his head, the veil covering his entire back…

_If only I was a girl…then it would be okay to like him._

_If only…I was a girl…_

His fingers crawled into his palms, his brows tightening…

_I could be…someone he could maybe love…_

_If I was a girl…I could make him happy…_

That day...

"_St-Stan?! What the fuck are you doing!?"_

"_U-Uhm…I could ask you the same question…"_

"_I…told you I couldn't hang out today."_

"_I know, but I didn't care."_

"_You're so stupid."_

"_You're just saying that cause I caught you doing something you didn't want me to catch you doing."_

In fact, Stan was the only person Kyle would ever want to see that side of him. Not that he held onto those feelings and thoughts any longer.

"_You actually…look really pretty."_

"_Pretty? You think I look pretty like this?"_

"_Yeah."_

"…_pretty?"_

"_Yeah…it's not like…it's not like I can say handsome, cause it isn't made for guys and I figured calling you beautiful would freak you out. It's what I meant, though."_

"_That wouldn't freak me out."_

"_Then I think you look beautiful."_

"_Thank you…"_

"_W-well, I always think you're beautiful, I mean, you always are beautiful, even when you don't try or anything…"_

"_Thank you, Stan…that's…really…uhm…flattering."_

If only he could let it go. And he fell asleep like that, on his mother's bed, in his mother's room, in his mother's dress wondering on wonders he never should. Sunday morning he met with Professor Avinash and his colleagues. Professor Briggs gave out his offer to Kyle again, to go away to Greece for three years to study culinary arts and culture studies. Kyle was seriously considering it. He asked Briggs if his best friend could come with him. He said that Eric was more than welcome. The professors all agreed that he was doing wonderfully in Bernadette's stead and to carry on for at least another month before they made any final decisions. He went home and graded papers and woke to Eric's car escorting back to the building. He was happy in those car rides, alone with his strong protector. He brought it up to Eric and Eric almost started to cry. Kyle knew Eric would never admit to that, but he knew how to tell when he was fighting back the urge to cry; his eyes would get glassy, one of his brows would curve strangely and he'd force an airy laugh at something stupid and curse more than necessary. Kyle didn't hate the idea of leaving to Greece for three years with Eric Cartman; now that was something he never thought he'd feel.

He gave out the last paper and walked back to his desk, trying to hide the ring that still shined on his hand. He took his glasses off and cleaned them with a microfiber glass clean cloth, sighing,

"If you have any questions about your grades, after school I'll be—"

"What the fuck?!"

He sighed again at the sound of Stan screaming. He slid his glasses back on, not even gracing Stan with a glance,

"What is it, Mr. Marsh?"

Stan stood, his desk shaking under him and Wendy and Michelle, Danielle and Marissa beginning to giggle encouragingly. Stan gripped the paper; there was no way he could show this grade to his mother.

"What the fuck is this, Kyle?!"

The redhead looked up at him from under his lashes,

"It's a failing grade, Mr. Marsh and I'd appreciate it if you didn't refer to me by my first name while in the class—"

"Yeah, I can see that, asshole, why'd I end up with this? I thought you were my friend!"

Kyle scowled, his heart starting to pick up its pace,

"I **am** your friend, Stan, but you failed, I don't know what else to tell you, I—"

"No, you're not," He barked.

They stood in silence. The classroom was focused completely on them, after all, this was the Colorado-famous super best friendship. Kyle had the power over Stan to make everything okay, no matter how nervous or scared Stan became. If he looked into those ivy irises that melted into him like a jade hypnosis, then nothing and no one could ever hurt him. Because when he looked into those eyes, they were pure and intelligent and breath-taking and concentrated solely on him and all that he meant to Kyle; they were best friends—super best friends—that no harsh words, insults, preferences or rumors could tear apart. Kyle meant home to Stan, he was someone he trusted with everything in a place where there was nothing; he could cry in front of Kyle, he could snort when he laughed and not care that he heard it, he could tell him all of his bad grades and not feel embarrassed, he could seek help without feeling lesser and he was always secure in the fact—the factual reality—that they cared more about each other than any other human being could possibly comprehend. There was never a sacrifice too great for Kyle, never a secret he couldn't withhold, never a promise he wouldn't preserve; it was true, he would do anything for that boy. And in his heart he knew Kyle would do the same and felt the same.

Other kids their age; they could never understand. Their hearts were immature and inexperienced to such profound concepts as their ever-growing friendship. Even though Stan felt some sort of pity for the masses that could never truly feel that blissful comfort and care that he did, he was glad to know that it was something only he and Kyle could share. It was no one else's and only theirs, and nothing in the world was strong enough to penetrate that shield. They were best friends, always playful and looking for something to do and never being cruel or immature. What everyone admired, really, was the fact that they never bickered or called each other horrid names; that is, unless the other truly was whatever word they used. Which never occurred, of course, unless one called the other an ass or a douche-bag, but they reserved words like that for situations that called for it. Kyle and Stan had found a system perfect for them; they never used ill language, so they never misunderstood each other. Without misunderstandings there was fair trade, push and pull, in communication, building stronger trusts and they never mistakenly hurt the other by using messy words that could be skewed or twisted or misinterpreted. Every pair of teenage friends envied their sane behavior.

Up until then.

"You set me up to fail because you're jealous that I've made new friends, Kyle, everyone knows it!"

Kyle scowled, "Whoa, back up, I have never been jealous of you, Stan, it's not my fault that you failed!"

"You failed me on purpose!"

"You failed because your paper **sucked**!"

They glared dangerously at each other. Stan stepped forward, his hands turning to fists and crumpling his red-marked paper,

"You're such a fucking liar!"

"Liar!?" Kyle practically squeaked, "I'm not a liar, you're just an idiot!"

"I am not an idiot, my grades were great until you took over, which not only makes you a fucking liar, it makes you a douchebag!"

"Well, at least I'm not a test-cheating, homework-copying, bullying, self-centered, popularity-obsessed **prat**!"

Stan scoffed, "**Prat**? I'm a **prat**, huh?"

Kyle's face contorted to even more anger, his jade eyes shining like acid, just as deadly and burning. Stan straightened his chest, his brain not catching up to his common sense and he released a statement that would forever twist his future.

"I may be a test-cheating, homework-copying, bullying, self-centered, even popularity-obsessed prat, but at least I'm not a _**faggot**_!"

Everyone froze.

Time even froze.

Wendy was hiding a gaping smile behind her hand as Stan's heart rate began to decline from its daring high. Reality was beginning to set in…

…_at least I'm not a faggot!_

…_at least I'm not a faggot!_

…_at least I'm not a faggot!_

Kyle's eyes quickly watered, his stomach twisting, his heart racing, his head pounding, his limbs shaking; he was about to have a panic attack. All of his students were gazing at him and he could hear everyone muttering already, rumors already bubbling to life. He looked around the room, backing away from his desk a little as he stared into Stan's azure glower.

"_It's okay, Kyle, I hear where you're coming from. You'd make a really good teacher."_

"_Of course; you're my best friend, Kye, my super best friend…I wouldn't change that for the world…"_

"_You don't ever say that, Kyle. I will always be your friend. You don't think that and you don't feel that and you don't say that. I don't care if you're gay, if you're a girl, if you're Jewish, Asian or purple, it doesn't matter. Nothing, especially your sexual preferences, are gonna take me away, okay?"_

"_Nice try. It means I am a Super Best Friend, which is pretty much a soul ninja."_

"_Don't be retarded, you are my buzz."_

…_at least I'm not a faggot!_

Stan finally realized what he had done…

"_But Stan…you won't tell anyone, right?"_

"_Of course not, dude. Who do you think I am?"_

"_Stanley Marsh."_

"_Damn right. And what does that mean?"_

"_Uhm…loser?"_

"_Nice try. It means I am a Super Best Friend, which is pretty much a soul ninja."_

"_How does that make you a soul ninja? What does that even mean?"_

"_That means, like a ninja, I sneak unseen into your soul, learn all your secrets and provide emotional security. Like a ninja, just figurative."_

He broke his promise.

To the twenty-eight people in the room.

To the entire school.

And if the school knew, the teachers would know, and if the teachers would know…his mother was bound to find out.

Stan had just forced Kyle Broflovski out of the closet in front of the entire state of Colorado.

Kyle's panic attack was rapidly worsening and before anyone could pull him back, he ran out of the room, tears cascading down his face and he ran right into the hardened, strong hold of his best friend. He looked up as Eric dropped the briefcase he would ritually bring to Kyle at this last period every day, and wrapped his arms around him as he cried into his chest.

"What's wrong? What happened, Kye?"

He sobbed, holding the sides of Eric's shirt, which he was glad to feel was fitting better. He looked up to Eric, shaking in his hold,

"S-Stan, Stan, Stan told, Stan told everyone, but he promised! He promised he wouldn't tell anyone, but he told! He told everyone, oh, God, Eric, the teachers—the professors are going to know! Th-they're going to find out, they won't take me seriously anymore, they're going to dump me to the side, Eric! Oh, God, Eric, my mother! My father! Ike! They're going to know, Eric, they're going to hear from everyone, Eric, oh, God, everything is ruined! Everything is ruined!"

Kyle couldn't remember much after that, as his panic rose to such a state that he actually fainted. Even in his anxiety-induced nightmares, he dreaded waking up.

* * *

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	25. Epiphany

"You're a disgrace,"

Kyle's eyes were wide in horror, "I'm sorry, I-I didn't ask for this, I didn't want this,"

Professor Avinash scowled, "We could never represent you, Mr. Broflovski, we don't want you tarnishing these names we've worked so hard to establish,"

"We are good people, Mr. Broflovski," Professor Briggs began, "We're good church-going people, Mr. Broflovski. You don't belong here. We cannot allow you to carry our reputations,"

"I can carry your reputations, I swear!"

Professor Boyd shook his head, "You would tarnish them. This is a place of learned, straight men. And you're just a child,"

"A confused child," Professor Lambert interjected.

"I-I'm not confused! I'm not anymore, I'm straight, I'm smart!"

"Smart, sure," Professor Moreno replied, "But you're as twisted as a wormhole in the deepest singularity in the universe, boy,"

"But, Professor, I know I can do this, I can stop being this way!"

Professor Doyle sneered, "This is a pitiful attempt to woe us. What if you get involved with another man? What will it make us look like? Fools. The world, especially the state of Colorado, isn't ready for a University Professor who's got the gal to proclaim he's a prodigy, a teenager who would sacrifice his good and sense to feed his vice. You're disgusting,"

Kyle turned around and Bernadette was being fired; had she ever looked so sad before…

"I'm sorry, he was such a mistake. If I had known sooner, I would never have let him believe he could grow in this department. I didn't know he was such a person, you know I'd never risk all the distinguished people of this office with something as futile as bringing in someone **like him**,"

His eyes saddened, "Bernadette…?"

"Oh, Abraham, had I known my only son would grow up to be such a disaster, I would have put him in therapy early, I would have hidden him from all the evil and sin he's found himself wrapped up in!" His mother cried.

She was being comforted by his father as his father added, "Therapy? Hiding? Never! Had I known earlier, Kyle, I never would have let you in this family. If we knew earlier, we would have disowned him! I could never let you poison this family,"

"You do know why the gays are the work of the devil, don't you?" Ike's pre-teen voice rang out.

Kyle turned around to see his ten year-old brother looking at him strangely and walking towards him like a snake, sharp but smooth and terrifying, "It's because the Bible says that the devil is gay! He's gay so that he'll never have children, so that he'll never have a family. That way he'll never know love. That's why gays are demons, they're just monsters with a disease that spreads like wildfire, destroying families. Just like ours. You're the monster that destroyed our family, Kyle,"

"No!" Kyle cried, his eyes watering, "No, Ike, Mom, Dad…please, I didn't—I don't, I'm not—"

"A faggot?"

Kyle turned around again, black all around except for a light singularly on Stanley Marsh; his life-long friend.

"…Stan…"

His only love.

"You're gonna deny it? You can't you know. You can't hide what you really are. You're just disgusting. You're constantly jealous and clingy, you're weak and a know-it-all. You've got no place in South Park, no place in this country---in this world. You're just disgusting,"

Kyle was finding his knees weak, his voice was hard to form into any words and his heart was breaking into a million pieces,

"You promised, Stan…you promised you wouldn't tell…"

Wendy was suddenly around him, Kenny and his girlfriends too. Their arms were entangled around Stan's body, their eyes all black and smiles stretching too far around their faces; they looked evil. Stan's baby-blue stare suddenly became ebony, no white to be found, just like the cloned villains around him,

"Promise? You're such an idiot, Kyle," His neck stretched forward, his serpentine face now in front of Kyle's, his mouth a crescent with sharp, pointed teeth, "Empty words, words that mean nothing. You're a fool, Kyle. You're what we all know you are; a monster, a disaster, a disgust, a demon, a faggot, Kyle. You can be smart and all, all you like, but in the end, you're still just a faggot. You're a faggot, Kyle and now that everyone knows the truth, they'll look at you the way you're supposed to be viewed. You're a butt-fucking, sausage-loving princess, just a faggot. Always have been, always will be,"

The girls were giggling and Kenny muttered something about how funny it was that Kyle ever believed they were friends. Suddenly Eric was in front of him, a wind pushing him so fast that Kyle fell to the floor. He looked up and Eric was looking down his nose at him; his eyes were hidden by the shadow of his hair and the darkness all around,

"I forgave you for being such a demon, for lying to me and everyone you ever knew, making us think you were straight, making us think you were trustworthy. All you ever did was grow more and more ignorant. It's the people like you that let my mother die. It's the people like you that give into sin and evil. You're pitiful, Kyle. You're on your knees…"

Everyone appeared around him, red and purple lights flashing from somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt like blood was pouring from his scalp, he felt like he was covered in bugs, but when he touched at his flesh nothing was there. He looked around, through the fog crawling in to see the warped faces of all those he had ever known,

"But I guess you're used to that,"

"It's where he belongs," Wendy snickered.

Stan shook his head as Kyle's mother cried out from his father's shoulder,

"Our family, disgraced! Our name stained! Oh, Kyle, I knew you were too good to be true. You were perfect in the places you wanted to be, but you turned out to be a failure in what you needed to be…you have failed me, hurt me, more deeply by this than any other mistake you could have made…why did you have to be this way? Where did I go wrong?"

"Mom…" He murmured, tears rolling down his face, "I don't want this, I just want to be normal! I just want my friends! I want my family!"

"Then you wouldn't give into this!" Ike screamed.

"I can't help it! It's-it's not something I can just stop!"

"You know this is a choice, you know it is! You're so selfish, you're so horrible!" The boy yelled.

"No, no, I don't want this! I just want my life back, I just want to be regular! Please! Please!"

* * *

Kyle woke up with a jolt but as his heart rate calmed he slowly came to true consciousness, rubbing his sore eyes with the back of his feminine wrists. He felt the brush of Bernadette's ring against his cheek. He opened his eyes, they were heavy and moist and his head was pounding. He turned to his side and saw Eric leaning against his bedside table. His lamp was on, it was dark outside his window and his room was silent and otherwise empty. Eric turned his head to Kyle, his expression serious but clearly worried,

"How are you feeling?"

"…head…"

Eric was equipped with Advil and a glass of water. He moved slightly and helped Kyle sit up against his bedpost. He sighed,

"What happened? What am I doing here?"

"You're home,"

"I know, I know…" He paused to take down the pills with the water, and continued, "But what happened? Why am I here?"

Eric stared at him anxiously.

"What do you last remember, Kyle?"

"I…I don't know…tell me how I got home, and I'll see what I remember…"

Cartman sighed, "Well, uh, I found you in the hall, you came to me crying…you, uh, passed out and I…carried you out. I put you in the car, took you inside, got you into your pajamas and into bed and I've waited for you to wake up…"

Kyle's hand rushed to his forehead as the memories flooded his frontal lobe.

"_I may be a test-cheating, homework-copying, bullying, self-centered, even popularity-obsessed prat, but at least I'm not a __**faggot**__!"_

He choked on water traveling down his throat, dropping the glass to the hardwood floor and even the sound of it shattering didn't bother him. He held his chest and his throat as he coughed violently, his face feeling hot again,

"F-fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

Eric was splattered with water and he sighed, petting his sizeable hand over Kyle's shoulder,

"Calm down, Kye, I'm right here…can you tell me what happened?"

His tired eyes couldn't water; he had cried so much in the past two months, he was probably totally dehydrated.

"Stan—"

"I know…"

"You know?"

"It's all over Facebook, Myspace…I meant, as in, why did you faint?"

Kyle gripped his temples, his elbows resting against his knees, and he closed his eyes,

"Fuck…fuck, Eric…fuck, fuck my life, fuck…"

"Shit, can you just talk to me?"

He opened his right eye a slit to look at Eric and muttered,

"What do you mean? I passed out because I had a panic attack…"

"Yeah, but Kyle, have your panic attacks always been that bad?"

"Well, that was definitely the worst one, but they're usually something like that, yeah…"

Eric gripped his hand, Kyle's head tore away from his fingers and he met his eyes with Eric's.

"Kyle, that isn't okay. Kyle, if your anxiety has been that bad, you've needed to tell someone…you can't just…you can't just ignore it,"

"What are you going on about, Eric?"

His grip tightened around Kyle's hand,

"Walk me through a day, Kyle, just walk me through a normal day with you…"

Kyle sighed, "I don't know what you're getting at, but fine. I wake up at five a.m., I do laps around the block till six, I shower, dress, eat breakfast and I'm out the door by seven. I work at the school now, so I work first, second, fourth, seventh, eighth and ninth period, I get a ride back home from you, I clean whatever mess Ike has left in the living room or kitchen, grade papers, tests, quizzes and whatever else I've been given back that day, I prepare dinner for mom, dad and Ike, I make a call to Bernadette while I tend to my mother's garden in the backyard, I study after dinner and help Ike with his homework. After that I set my alarm clock again and go to sleep,"

Eric hit the back of Kyle's sore head, "God damn it, Kyle, you're a kid, not a super hero!"

The redhead pouted, "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"You can't just…you can't just pile on all that stress, you're fucking sixteen years old! You make it your responsibility to cook, clean and care for your family, make money for your family, buy groceries for me, remember Kenny's birthday, provide an armchair therapist for your Goddamn English teacher, I mean, shit, Kyle! You're just one person!"

Kyle looked away, "I'm able to handle it,"

Eric's eyes widened, "…that's why everything went to shit with you and Stan, isn't it?"

Kyle shot his head back to the brunette as he continued, "…you're so addicted to helping everyone and you didn't know how to help, Stan…you knew something was wrong, but you couldn't fix it and it's probably killing you that you're not the solution. He just relapses on Wendy and there's nothing you can do, so you act all passive and shit because you feel like you failed him…he's probably the only person you ever feel you failed, and it probably hurts the most because he was the most important person to you…and I bet you anything that your addiction to helping people came from your constant need to cover up the fact that you need help yourself and that you're too scared to accept who you are because you know that once you concentrate on you and your problems, you're going to need helping hands, but you're too obsessed with making everyone think that you're perfectly capable on your own…"

They stared at each other in silence for a long while…

"…that's why you're wearing Barnes's ring, isn't it?"

Kyle went to respond, but Eric interjected, "She failed her husband…just like you feel like you failed Stan…that's why you're wearing it, aren't you?"

Kyle just stared.

"And it's not just a means of telling yourself you failed, it's not just your little award of failure…it's your sick way of closing this, isn't it? It's your closure, cause as long as you wear that ring, that ring that meant all the devotion and love in the world couldn't survive it means that you belong to that category. As long as you wear that ring , it means that you've not just failed him, you've **accepted** that you failed him. That's what it all means, then…?"

"…the weather has been horrid lately, don't you agree?"

Eric studied Kyle's blank expression, his fingers twining against the genius's,

"Yeah. It's been raining a lot,"

Kyle looked out his window, muttering, "Do the professors know yet?"

"You got some calls, but I told them you weren't available. Everyone heard about you running out of your last class, so they were all a bit more than concerned about you…you're going to have to tell them what happened,"

"…what about my mother? My father? What about Ike? Do they know yet?"

"Your mom called and said she'd be home late cause she went to one of your father's trials today and Ike had a school play he'd be getting out of late. They'll be home in about an hour…you still have time to tell them yourself, I mean…you don't want them to find out through Facebook, do you?"

Kyle sighed deeply again, "…this is so fucked. My whole life is fucked. No one was supposed to know…God damn it…"

"Well…will your parents—"

"They're going to kill me…my mother has been nagging me about grandchildren since middle school, Eric…she's going to be devastated. And my father hates them…and Ike's gonna…shit, Ike's just gonna think I'm a girl now…"

"What can I do?"

Kyle looked back to him, smiling half-heartedly, "Just pay me back for the groceries over the past week by leaving a room open for me,"

Eric tried to laugh, "I hardly think it'll be that bad,"

Kyle didn't have the energy to argue with him. It was going to be bad, he knew that. But now that he was about to lose everything, nothing seemed to bother him. His parents were going to know and they were going to hate him, Ike was going to know and never look at him the same, his peers were going to know and they'd ridicule him, his supervisors were going to know and they'd hide him by the wayside. All because of one little word. In the heat of passion, everything was ruined because of one little word. Someone he loved, more dearly than he had loved anyone or anything before, used that word so carelessly and turned his world upside down. The person he loved didn't care that he had cried when he ran out of the room, he didn't care that he **ran** either. He didn't care that his feelings were hurt, his love didn't care that he had cried all that month. He didn't care that his heart was broken to a thousand pieces, he didn't care that he ruined his future, tarnished his name and credibility and he didn't care that Kyle was the most alone he had ever felt. Still, in all the pain whirling around him, all the pain that the refracted light through his window that purple morning so long ago had warned him, all the pain that the poem about the bastard reeds and the desperate wife promised him for so long, in all the loss and horror and shame…he missed Stan.

Even after all the hurt, he wished Stan were there, by his side, holding his hand and telling him that he'd take care of him. He wished Stan were the one that carried him home and tucked him in bed and read him so well. Even after all the damage…he loved Stan. And he couldn't stop. Not now.

"Kyle,"

He looked to Eric.

"It's okay to be angry,"

"…I still love him,"

"That means you _should_ be angry,"

And he was.

That didn't mean the pain went away.

He smiled bitterly…

"_Broflovski…if there is one thing you leave my classroom with this year, is please…please know that dreams are important…and you can't let—not one—die out. I was distracted with my students and paperwork and school functions…chasing my career and getting a name for myself…that…I let my husband fall out of love…and now I have to live alone…and work alone and eat alone and sleep alone and…it's not worth it Broflovski…not all the money or pride in the world could bring him back to me…so if you're alone someday, Broflovski and you're hurting like you've never hurt before, come to me and you can help me finish off a bottle of wine."_

Bernadette owed him a bottle of wine.

* * *

Stan was pacing around his room, holding his head, his laundry scattered and an open bag of pot making his room smell disgusting. He had rummaged around his entire room, searching for a picture of him and Kyle that used to hang on his wall that he had taken off when he was alone with Wendy in there; he didn't want her getting the wrong idea. He was horrified, though, when he couldn't find it again. His bed wasn't made, his room was a mess, his stomach was empty, his hair was longer and mussed and his voice was tired and deeper; how did Kyle have that power over him? When Kyle was there, everything was okay, the world could crumble out from under his feet and he wouldn't have cared. But now that Kyle was gone, even the small, rectangular slides of evidence his angelic presence ever visited Stan's life was gone, now that he was without the one person who meant the most to him, he was changing and he hated it. He had always been brought up believing that change is good, that it's a part of life and it always leads to something better than before. But a future without Kyle Broflovski could only be cold and lonely. There was no happy ending without Kyle.

"Fuck…"

"Hey, turd!" Shelly's voice rang as she opened his door; without knocking, as always.

He shut his eyes tight, gripping the bridge of his nose and snapping,

"What, Shelly? What do you want?"

She tipped her hips, glaring down her nose, "Don't give me that attitude, dick,"

His eyes immediately watered and he turned around violently, his face red and his fists shaking,

"Just shut the fuck up, Shelly! Okay? Shut the fuck up! You're always moping around the Goddamn house, wallowing in self-pity and caring only about yourself! For your fucking information, I had a really fucking shitty day and I don't need your shit right now!"

She was caught off guard, her eyes wide and heart weak. She glanced around, inquiring,

"W-what happened?"

Stan would've taken note that it was the first time his sister ever sounded concerned for him, but his fury and overflowing sadness wouldn't let him focus on anything else,

"I fucked up! I fucking…" He dropped to his knees in all his scattered clothes, pressing his forehead against his palms, "Oh, God, Shelly, I fucked everything up…he hates me, Shelly…he fucking hates me…"

"Who? Who hates you? What happened?" She pressed.

"Kyle…" Stan looked up and Shelly saw, for the first time in a long time, the innocence sparkling in Stan's eyes, "Kyle…Kyle, Kyle…" He burst into hysterical tears, his chest contracting and heart lurching, "Kyle, Kyle, Kyle, Oh, God, I ruined everything! He's going to hate me forever, Shelly! He'll never speak to me again, I just fucked up everything!"

"What about Kyle?" She asked as she entered the room, crouching down and coating his shivering shoulder with her hand, "What the hell happened? What did you do?"

"I…I outted him…"

"You…" She trailed off, blinking in realization, "…wait…he's gay?"

"Yeah, and I was the only one that knew and I promised, Shelly, I promised Kyle I would never tell anyone, I promised him and I told them! I told them all and now everyone knows! Shelly, I feel awful, I feel sick…"

She ran her thumb up and down his shirt, looking away, "Shit, Stan…where have you been?"

He looked up to her, tears flooding down his face, "W-what do you mean?"

"I mean…you've been moody, quiet, argumentative…I've had to delete messages from the Dean for you, Kyle hasn't been over in ages…and when you looked at me just now, you looked like your old self. You looked better,"

He rolled his eyes and made an airy scoff, "What does that even mean?"

"Don't give me that," She started, "…what made you say it? What made you tell everyone?"

"You know how he's been teaching at the school?"

"Of course, it's been all over the news and all over the local newspapers,"

Stan growled deeply from his chest, practically ripping out his hair as he stood up and kicked at his strewn clothes,

"That's just it! He fuckin' hid everything from me! He was like, 'Oh, Stan, Ms. Barnes thinks I'm a prodigy' and that's all he ever told me! Then he was like 'Oh, I'm gonna leave the fuckin' country to do crazy fucking studies without you and just leave you with fucking Kenny and Eric and not give a shit about you anymore!' and I just fucking got pissed off! It's like, Kenny's been my only friend! He hooked me up with Wendy again, I've been going to all these parties and actually been making friends outside of Kyle and Cartman and Kyle's just been…" He sighed, "…I got angry, and…I called him…"

"…you called him, what?"

"…a faggot," He admitted shamefully.

Shelly cringed, "…shit…in front of everyone?"

"Y-yeah…"

"Well, why?"

"…he failed me,"

"For the semester?! Mom and Dad are gonna kill you!"

"No," He looked away again, "…no, he failed a major project…"

"…hmm…well…why would he hide things from you?"

"I dunno!"

"Well…have you ever hidden anything from him before?"

"No, Shelly, of course no—"

"_Yeah, but I wouldn't tell Kyle, kay?"_

"…Stan?"

He hadn't realized how long he had been silent…

"I…I did…I hid things from him…"

"Like what?"

"I…I didn't tell him that I was getting back together with Wendy…and I didn't tell him…"

Shelly tilted her head, "…you didn't tell him what?"

"…Shelly…is it normal to…daydream about your friends?"

"Well, yeah, I guess,"

"N-no, not like…I mean…is it normal to…daydream about…"

"About what, Stan? Just spit it out, turd,"

He sighed, "Fucking,"

"…fucking what?"

"…no, like…"

There was a long quiet again. Shelly's eyes widened and her voice went up three octaves,

"You mean like…you daydream about fucking Kyle!?"

Stan's face went red, "No!"

"No? Then what's the problem?"

"_Stan…kiss me…"_

"…when are we going to church again?"

"…Sunday, like we always do,"

"…fine. Good. I need to talk to Father Maxi. I need some answers,"


	26. Some Say It's The Hardest Thing To Do

The hall was decorated in Christmas lights and beautiful combinations of green and red and gold and white. Stan was used to seeing the Church at this time, and he recalled when he first saw the Church at this time of the year; he was so amazed, he sang in the choir and his eyes twinkled in all the glitter and shine and glory surrounding him. As he saw the worn but still golden statue of Christ on the cross behind the platform the priest would stand on it reminded him of a Christmas from years before…

* * *

"I dunno if I should go in,"

Stan frowned, "Why not? It's so pretty, Kye, I know you'll love it!"

Kyle looked up to Stan's mother, his eight-year-old eyes questioning her and reading her in the genius way he would find himself doing the rest of his life.

"Mrs. Marsh, is it really okay for me to go in? I think my mom would get angry,"

She smiled humbly, "Kyle, you know you're like my own son, I would never make you do anything you didn't want to,"

"But…I'm Jewish…"

"And?" Stan pressed, very upset, tugging on the boy's orange jacket sleeve.

Kyle looked away sadly, "Cartman said I'd burst into flames if I walked in a Church,"

Stan took Kyle's tiny hand in his own and angrily responded, "Cartman's a dick. Don't listen to him, Kyle, he's a liar. I promise you won't get hurt, I just wanna share this with you!"

Kyle sighed in defeat, "Fine, fine, I'll go in…"

Stan beamed, dragging the boy into Mass. Stan kept looking at Kyle excitedly, drinking in his awed expression. Kyle's bright eyes matched much of the décor, his mouth hanging loose and his hand limp in Stan's tight grip. Stan grinned at him, whispering as they passed the crowded rows of wooden seats,

"Isn't it really pretty?"

"Yeah…" Kyle smiled, his eyes still darting around the room.

Stan sat the boy next to him as Father Maxi, much younger looking then, opened with uplifting prayers and the choir chimed in perfect harmony and lights bounced off the glitter and emerald and scarlet and ivory, reflecting in their eyes and making them sing along and grin wildly. Stan kept glancing to the side, making sure that Kyle wasn't regretting his decision and he was so proud to see Kyle's expression radiating and his face so overflowing with elation and amazement. The last thing he remembered from that night was going into Confession. His father looked to the two of them as they got on a line that Stan was familiar only with seeing from further by the front of the hall. His father leaned in close and told them in a hush,

"You boys should go into Confession now. Kyle, do you know what that is?"

"No, Mr. Marsh,"

"Well, you boys will go in to that wooden stall and there will be a wall and a bench. On the wall there's gonna be a tiny window. Father Maxi is going to open that tiny window and ask you to tell him your sins. And that's all you do, boys. You tell him what you've done wrong and he will tell you that God forgives you for your sins because you had the sincerity and faith enough to know that you did wrong and had to own up to your wrongs, like a man. He'll also answer any questions you have,"

Kyle looked worried again, "Mr. Marsh…is this really okay?"

"It's fine," Stan answered, "Nothing bad is gonna happen, Kye, I promise,"

Kyle had known that Stan wasn't a very religious person, wasn't very dedicated to his religion or his Church, so his enthusiasm must have been only due to his desire to entertain Kyle. Kyle nodded; he'd be brave for Stan. Stan never let go of his hand, not for a second, as they waited on that line for over a half hour. When Stan was up he dragged Kyle in with him before any of the adults could pull them apart. They were both small enough to fit on the bench although their feet only brushed the floor. Kyle stiffened at the sound of the window sliding open and Father Maxi's voice approached,

"Merry Christmas Eve, boys,"

"Merry Christmas Eve, Father Maxi," They replied in unison.

"Tell me what lies in your hearts,"

Stan knew Father Maxi wouldn't yell at him for taking Kyle in with him; he was always so nice. Stan spoke up first, clearing his voice and announcing,

"I have been skipping going to Church on Sundays to hang out with my friends, I've been really lazy and I back-talked my mom,"

Father Maxi smiled, although they could not see it; Confession with Stanley Marsh really was entertaining sometimes. He was too young to get in much trouble.

"The Lord forgives you, Stanley,"

Stan sighed, his shoulders slacking as he breathed out, "Thank Goodness, I was scared about that whole mom-thing…"

"And you?" Father Maxi indicated Kyle with his voice.

Kyle looked at his hands linked with Stan's, then answered,

"I, uhm…my faith is weak, really. I don't feel that I belong here and that causes me to act out on, uhm 'sinful' emotions. And, Father, I have been selfish. A lot,"

Father Maxi's voice was low and smooth as he quickly responded,

"It is not a sin to want happiness, Kyle. It is okay to be selfish sometimes. It is natural to question the Lord and the Church at some points in your life, and so that is not something to be ashamed of. If you keep to the teachings and pray for forgiveness and strength, you will find happiness. This is not to say that the Church has never been wrong, but if you live in His spirit, you will surely find your way and you will never find yourself let down or alone,"

Kyle smiled, looking at Stan, grinning with pride; it had taken a lot of courage to say what he had said, to even sit beside Stan in that small room. He nodded, never breaking his gaze with Stan as he replied,

"Thank you, Father,"

"Of course. Merry Christmas, boys,"

"Merry Christmas, Father Maxi," They said together before leaving…

* * *

Stan tucked his hands in his pockets, Wendy's arm linked around his like thin sticks twining with his more athletic limbs; she really was such a thin girl. His face was bored now, older now, impatient looking. He didn't want to be there anymore, the lights and colors and shine and twinkle of the Church that entertained the children no longer appealed to him. He sat through the prayers and the singing, but when it came time for everyone to line up if they wanted to enter Confession, he waited and stood at the very end of the line. He crossed his arms over his chest; he was so close to the entrance that he was chilled by the snow storm outside. He looked at Wendy in front of him. She seemed distracted. He tilted his head, inquiring,

"What's up, Wen?"

She looked back at him, "Oh…nothing, really,"

He rolled his eyes, "Just tell me,"

She looked away again and muttered, "She's here…"

Stan looked up and in her direction to see a curly-haired blonde by the front of the line. Stan looked back at Wendy and asked,

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing…I just…ever since you mentioned her, I've been thinking about her a lot. I mean, we haven't like…talked in, like…I dunno, but we haven't talked in a long, long time. I just got to thinking if she was okay these days or not,"

Stan shuffled a little, fighting off the chill, "I'm sure she's fine…why don't you go over there and talk to her?"

Wendy laughed, turning her back to Bebe's direction as she crossed her own arms,

"Yeah, right, no. That's so not happening,"

"Why not?"

Wendy exhaled sharply, "It's just not like that. You wouldn't understand, you're a boy,"

Stan pouted, "Come on, you can tell me,"

"It's just…when you stop being friends, it's like…it's just not cool anymore. It's like all you can concentrate on is how you're not friends anymore, and it's awkward and weird. I could never just walk up to her and talk to her like I used to. We're not friends anymore,"

"…how is it that…you guys stopped being friends? I mean, was there a definitive day or something?"

"Oh-ho, yeah," Wendy laughed bitterly, "Yeah…we were at school at our club and no one had showed up but us. Our other club members had…well, they'd realized they had boobs and high heels. So, we were talking and…I said something…I dunno, I don't remember, I said something about them being right about her. You see, I was kind of angry, I didn't mean to say whatever I had said, but I was so aggravated that…ugh, I dunno, that the other club members didn't really care, that they didn't want what I wanted, they weren't dedicated like I was, that they didn't get it…and she was like 'what?' and…I told her that everyone was calling her a dyke behind her back…and that's why they all quit. She started crying and I'm not sure what happened after that, cause I know I started crying too and I screamed at her…she ran out of the room and tried calling my cell-phone like a million times…but I wouldn't pick up. She gave up, eventually and that was the last I ever talked to Bebe,"

Stan's brows curved deeply, "…don't you miss her?"

Wendy's eyes were watering, "God, Stan, of course…I mean, I have new friends and that's cool and whatever, but…Bebe was different…"

Stan looked at Wendy strangely as her eyes filmed with a nostalgic sort of fog and their caramel color shimmered with some profound emotion Stan had only ever seen when looking into Kyle's eyes. It was still hard to describe and it was still impossible to translate.

"She was…she wasn't like anyone else. She was always there when I needed her, and she always kept me out of trouble when I got carried away with something…she kept all my secrets, even after we stopped being friends and…she was really something…"

"Wendy, when you talk about Bebe, you sound like your old-self,"

Wendy looked up at him strangely, her hair blowing behind her shortly as the doors opened and closed with a group of visitors leaving. She tucked her hair behind her ears, asking,

"What?"

"…I can't explain it. You stop using the words 'dunno' and 'like' when you talk about her…you just sound smart again and…stuff like that. Your face changes and…I dunno. Heh, I don't know. I can't explain it,"

She looked sad and held her shoulders, crossing over her chest as she glanced back at the girl coming out of Confession,

"She's always so honest and she never bows down to anyone…except me. She always said I was her hero…she always wanted me with her, we used to spend every day together…I can't remember a fucking thing we said," she laughed, "but I know we never, ever ran out of things to say…and if I had nightmares, she'd stay up with me until I fell asleep and if I had a bad day, she'd make me something yummy and gossip with me, even though she hated herself for gossiping later, she knew I loved to. She doesn't have a lot of friends now…I mean, she has friends, but…"

"But not a friend like you were to her,"

She nodded, "Yeah…"

"And what about you?" Stan gripped her hand to gain her visual focus again.

"What?"

"What about you? Do you have any friends as good as her anymore?"

Wendy took her hand away, "What are you going on about? Stanley, you're being silly. You're being stupid. I have plenty of friends,"

"I didn't ask if you had a lot of them," He corrected.

She stared at him angrily for a few moments before turning around as Bebe walked by. She stopped to look at them,

"Uhm, merry Christmas Eve, Stan,"

"Merry Christmas Eve, Bebe," He said somewhat despondently.

Both their stares moved to Wendy, but she was only half-facing both of them. Bebe's long, thick curls bounced a little as she bowed her head shortly and murmured,

"Merry Christmas Eve, Wendy,"

"Yeah,"

Bebe, looking defeated and desolate gave Stan a last glance and turned to quickly leave. Stan furrowed his brows, interrogating,

"What the hell was that, Wendy?"

"I told you, you wouldn't get it!" Wendy shot in a whisper.

She turned around, looking infuriated, "Look, I don't want to talk about this anymore, okay? Bebe is not my friend anymore and we don't like each other anymore and that's it. I have new friends and like…a new life, okay? And I'm totally cool with that and whatever and I don't need her in it. I don't need her,"

Stan was beginning to think that…

_Is Wendy…hung up on Bebe?_

They waited in silence the rest of the way and Wendy made her visit with Father Maxi short, leaving without saying good-bye to Stan. Not that he was very surprised. He entered the stall, finding it was cramped and his big feet completely planted themselves on the floor. He looked up at the old wood and touched at the creaky bench and flinched when the window slid open. He heard Father Maxi greet,

"Merry Christmas Eve, Stanley,"

"Merry Christmas Eve, Father Maxi,"

Now that he was older, he knew Confession was technically supposed to be private and confidential, but no one else could hear them, so he didn't think it was a problem. He sighed, his heart throbbing as the man's voice continued,

"Tell me, Stanley, what lies in your heart?"

Stan bent over, his palms cradling his forehead and his elbows sharply pressing into his thighs as he fought back tears,

"Father…I knew this year was going to be different…just three months ago, K—my friend…my ex-friend…my…ugh, I dunno, told me a big secret and I…I broke his trust…I let my jealousy and my anger get the best of me and I…Father, I have questions…"

"Ask me, my child,"

"Father, is it bad that I'm angry?"

"No, son. It is never wrong to feel,"

"Father…my faith has never really been…very strong, I've always…questioned if God was really there with me…but sometimes I see him, sometimes I feel him…when I'm with…someone else. If that someone else…is…different, if that someone else is also the same…does it make it wrong? Am I wrong to feel close to God when I'm close to…"

"_Stan…kiss me…"_

"Do you know what I'm trying to say?"

"Yes, I do, Stanley,"

"…what do I do?"

"Stanley…I am not the Church, in fact…I tend to waver from traditional teachings. I know what you are trying to ask me, and to feel close to God is a blessing rarely given, rarely deserved, rarely found…if you have that, I urge you to keep it,"

"But, Father…if I…if I let myself indulge in all this, in that someone else…I mean, I never even knew for sure if He was there or not, I mean, could I lose him? Would he be out of my reach?"

"Stanley, we were created by Him to be messy and angry and even idiotic at times. We weren't created to be perfect, we were created to be forgiven, to know pain and love and if you find happiness, glory and God in that…someone else, that someone else could never be evil,"

"How do I…redeem myself, Father? Do I ask Him for forgiveness?"

"You can ask the Lord for forgiveness, yes. But you should ask him for the loyalty, the strength and honesty to ask Kyle for forgiveness. Otherwise, I don't think it does you much good, don't you agree?"

Stan smiled, his head lifting and looking at the barred window that revealed only a silhouette,

"I do…thank you, Father,"

"Of course, Stanley. Merry Christmas Eve,"

"Merry Christmas Eve, Father,"


	27. All I Want For Christmas

"With Billy Mays gone, the world is wondering now; where will another well-bearded man come along to yell at us about how amazing oxyclean is?"

Eric clicked the remote, flipping channels from the news that repeatedly covered the deaths of celebrities to find something at least somewhat uplifting or funny. As he clicked away the phone rang and he took his feet from his polished, wooden coffee table in his newly cleaned, practically sparkling living room to reach over the armrest and get the phone,

"Hello?"

"Hey,"

"…what are you calling for?"

"Just wanted to know what's up,"

"That's a fucking lie. What is it?"

"Harsh, Cartman. Why can't I just call to talk?"

"It's always got strings attached with you. Just spit it out, what's going on?"

He smirked on the other line, "Don't be so cruel, Cartman. You know it hurts my feelings,"

"How's Stan? Still doing whatever you tell him?"

"Well, that's unfair, Cartman, he's got his own free will, he just freely wills himself to do whatever I talk him into. How's Kyle? Still being a bitch?"

"Don't be an asshole, Kenny, even though I know it's so hard to fight your nature. I'll have you know, he's doing fantastically,"

"Oh, really? Cause I just happened to be walking past his house and saw his mother, father and brother pull in the driveway about a half hour ago. Do they know what happened today?"

"I wouldn't know. I figure Kyle will call me after their talk. His supervisors called wondering what the hell was going on because they were getting e-mails from the principal that he ditched his last class and ended up being carried out by me because of an anxiety attack that was so severe he fainted,"

"…is he okay?"

Eric cocked a brow, "Oh, for a second there it sounded like you had a soul,"

"Is he okay, Eric!?"

"He's fine. He's just fine, asshole, not that it's any of your business,"

There was a short silence, then a sigh,

"Jesus Christ…"

"Would you just tell me what the hell you're planning with all this? Or are you just being an asshole? Do you get some sort of joy out of destroying their friendship?"

"Of course not, Eric, I just do what I need to, to get what I need,"

"…what are you doing?"

At that, the doorbell rang and Eric sighed, "I've gotta go, ass-hat,"

"I'll see you later, Cartman,"

"Yeah, hopefully not,"

Kenny just laughed as Eric hung up. He stood, walking across the room and unlocking the door to the snowstorm outside. There pitifully shaking was a red-faced, tear-stained, mussed and disheveled English teacher. He was holding a briefcase and two backpacks, and he spoke with his teeth chattering,

"H-h-have you g-got th-that r-r-room re-ready?"

Eric pulled the boy into a tight embrace, not caring enough to shut the door as the cold air and ice nipped at his face and hair and neck. He heard Kyle's belongings clatter against the floor as he dropped them in order to wrap his own arms around Eric and sob into his shoulder. He murmured over and over,

"Gone, it's all gone, it's all over, it's so over, everything is over, everything is ruined…"

* * *

Ike was sitting in the stairwell when his brother was kicked out and he ignored the crying of his mother and the soothing mutters of his father to run up to the older boy's room. He dug through Kyle's desk until he found the ivy and silver, locked journal containing his brother's secrets. He retrieved the key from under Kyle's pillow, opening it and re-reading all of the poetry and confessions over and over for the millionth time, thinking how brave he was, thinking how beautiful it all was. Ike ran his fingers over the paper every time he saw Stanley Marsh's name and thought the diary must be greased with his fingerprints by now. He whispered a small prayer of strength for Kyle and smiled, holding it to his chest,

"I promise I'll keep your secret, Kyle. Your last secret, that you love Stan. I won't tell them, I won't tell anyone. I am so proud of you, I hope you know, Kyle, I still love you,"

* * *

"With Billy Mays gone, the world is wondering now; where will another well-bearded man come along to yell at us about how amazing oxyclean is?"

Bernadette flipped through the channels, stopping on American Justice to get up slowly, weakly and go into the kitchen. She poured more vodka into her green tea, looking out the window above her sink to the pounding fogs of white flickering down from the black sky. She was hoping Kyle was alright, to keep her mind from her lies to him. At that very thought the doorbell rang, and thinking it was her teenage comrade, she rushed to the door, calling out,

"One minute! I'm coming! One minute!"

She skid on her socks to a stop, opening the front door and her heart sank. She was out of breath; she hadn't run a great distance, but her heart was still healing and she still wasn't completely rested to be running anywhere.

"Huat-What are you doing here?

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, what are you doing here?"

Brandon's car lights were revealing shadows and snow otherwise covered by the ebony of the night in her driveway,

"I…came to see—"

"Right, if I was okay, again? Yeah, I'm fine, I'm great, in fact, is that all? I don't want your girlfriend waiting,"

"…she insisted on coming,"

"Why? She didn't even get out of the car to start shit with me,"

"Bernadette, please don't be that way,"

She scowled, "Well?"

"She thinks I'm having second thoughts about me and her,"

"Well, she's a quicker-thinker than me. I'll give her that much. Well, you two have a good night,"

She tried closing the door, but Brandon's arm stopped her. He glanced to the television in the livingroom and asked,

"I thought you hate those kinds of shows?"

"It's the only way I feel like you're here…"

His eyes widened a little, his chest aching and face flushing with flattery,

"…sometimes they say things you'd say when you came home from work. I've grown a liking to them. Nothing's different,"

"…Bernadette,"

"There's no doctor here, so what is it going to take for you to leave?"

"Look, I didn't want Staci to come and sit in the driveway, I wanted to come and talk to you alone, I didn't mean for it to be—"

"Brandon…if you didn't want her to come, why are you even here? What did you expect to happen?"

"I don't know!" He complained, rolling his head, "I don't know, Bernadette, you know I never think these things through!"

She chuckled nostalgically, "Yeah, I know. Reminds me of Christmas of '94… in middle school, remember?"

He chuckled too, "Yeah, I remember…I had no idea what you wanted and got you that hideous blouse," He laughed again, "You practically dressed me my whole career…you still wore it, though…"

She smiled humbly, tilting her head as she leaned against the threshold of the doorway,

"Yeah, I still wore it, made an idiot out of myself. You know I didn't care about anything superficial or anything…looking stupid was very little price to pay to make you happy,"

"…when we were young,"

She laughed, "We're still young, I'm only twenty-five, Brandon and you're two months older than me, we practically still are kids,"

"Then why do you have to act so proud? Why can't we…work on this?"

"This conversation again?" She relieved herself from her pressure on the archway to her home, "I'm done with this conversation,"

"I'm not,"

"Staci's in the driveway,"

He growled into his shoulder, "God damn it…"

"That's not appropriate on a night like tonight, Brandon,"

He looked back at her and she smiled even though she felt like crying and even though her eyes were watery and even though her heart felt broken all over again.

"You want a Christmas present, is that it?"

He blushed a little, admiring how ivory she looked in the night and how the snowflakes were slowly wafting into the room and falling on her lashes, and in her auburn hair and on her white sweater. He loved how she always looked so angelic.

"You were always that way; always the kid who wanted to open just one present at midnight on Christmas Eve. Well, you drove all the way out here, so you deserve just this one,"

He inhaled sharply as she leaned up on her toes, her smooth heels leaving a heated imprint on the marble floors as she turned her pretty face, glancing momentarily at the shadowed figure in the passenger's seat of her ex-husband's BMW. She closed her sorrowful eyes and kissed him, her arms holding themselves behind her back to keep from wrapping around him and pulling him inside and begging him to stay with every caress and stroke she was dying to make. She pulled away, their lips peeling away softly, comfortably. She put her hand on the door again and pushed down the tears and wanted nothing more than to overflow,

"Now, I'll leave it up to you to explain that to Staci. Merry Christmas, Brandon,"

She closed the door on him before he could say more, simultaneously hearing an offended honk from the car. She wiped at the wet escapees that fell down her face, returning to her intoxicated tea. She reached to the window ledge, retrieving her small, orange bottle of clonazepam and with a point five milligram of that and a full milligram of lexapro she walked back into the livingroom and reminisced on Christmases past, thinking of how empty the house was, thinking of how she knew he was on his way home and probably hoping she had noticed he had cut his hair since visiting her in the hospital, which she had of course, but would never announce. She thought about how much they had kissed, how much they had hugged and dreamt and breathed and lived and loved together. She remembered his warm embrace around her on cold nights, their games of footsy during high school classes, pranks they used to play on each other and she laughed as tears cascaded down her face and her despair left her to dreams once again.

* * *

"You look beautiful,"

She smiled, blushing, "Thanks, uhm, you look really handsome,"

Brandon laughed awkwardly, "God, my mother made me come in a suit…"

Bernadette brushed at her hair, her white dress outlining her sixteen year-old body beautifully with three chunky red buttons going down the front. Their parents started socializing and she blushed as he took her hand and inquired,

"Hey, would you come outside with me, Bernadette?"

"Yeah…you, uh, wanna go out on the back porch?"

"Sure,"

She half-lead him to the backyard doors, but relatives were out there talking about the Christmas party and some already obnoxiously drunk. He directed them to the side of the yard with a flick of his head. He gripped the top of the fence, hitching his foot up and throwing himself over. She clapped and heard the smile in his voice when he whispered,

"Come on, no one will notice we're gone,"

She copied his motions and as they ran down the block together, filling their lungs with freezing air, said air turning to fog in front of them, it began to snow. He stopped in the middle of a quiet street only a few blocks from her house. They huffed for breath and she leaned down on her athletic legs, brushing at her knees and holding her side with one feminine hand as she muttered,

"Sh-sheesh, Brandon, could've given me a little more warning…they're gonna wonder where we are soon,"

Before she could say anything more he pulled her to him and kissed her roughly, passionately, then humbly and sweetly. He pet through her hair and cherished her arms wrapping around his back, pulling closer, if at all possible. He pulled away and breathed out, "I had to see you…I had to kiss you…I don't like keeping our relationship a secret…I want everyone to know you're mine and I'm yours and…God, have I told you that you look beautiful yet tonight?"

She giggled, "Yes, you have…I don't mind hearing it again, though,"

He smirked, kissing her again, "You're beautiful, so beautiful,"

She mussed his hair, "You're adorable sometimes,"

"Sometimes," He specified.

She grinned, "When do you want to tell them?"

He tore away from her, stepping into the middle of the street, yelling out,

"WORLD, I AM MADLY IN LOVE WITH BERNADETTE ROMAN!"

She laughed and he did as well, until he noticed her shiver from a sheet of chills running down her back. He took off his suit jacket and put it around her, hugging her and whispering in her ear,

"You know I mean it, right? I love you, Bernadette…I always will,"

"I love you too," She returned the embrace sweetly, inhaling his familiar scent, "I'll always love you,"


	28. Vows in Perfect Harmony, All to Believe

**THANK YOU FOR ALL THE REVIEWS AND ADDS AND FANART EVERYONE! ALL SUPPORT IS CHERISHED LIKE A TINY FAERIE THAT GRANTS MY EVERY FANGIRLISH WISH, THAT IS HOW MUCH IT IS ALL CHERISHED! XD Hope you like your latest installment. No promises, but I'll probably end up updating more tonight too.**

* * *

"We have come together today in the presence of God to witness the joining of Stanley and Wendy in holy matrimony. This is a special time of celebration that Stanley and Wendy will long remember, and because of this, they are thankful you are here to share their joy,"

Father Maxi was smiling at the two of them, Wendy's pretty face hidden behind a sparkling veil, her dress coating the floor with intricate beadwork and silk. He was standing before her, a smile planted on his face as his mother and father and family and friends watched from the church benches he was so familiar with.

"From the dawn of human history, it has been customary for the community to place its seal of approval upon the union of two persons in marriage. If these solemn vows that they are about to make are kept faithfully, God will bless their marriage,"

He looked to both of them shortly, then announced,

"Wendy,"

She looked at Stanley, smiling half-heartedly, confusing him,

"In the year of bated breath and lover's debt, I become your beautiful wife. And though we toil in circular disintricacies and stay the coming of any age time musters, we will love each other dearly, to the threat of every deathbed and beyond,"

"Wendy?" He asked.

"My songs reach you in the dead of night or dark of day, I sing them to your open ears and although you will never know the verses precisely, though you will always know the words to give me, though we will sometimes mean the same with our smattered syllables and back traced fingers on the parchment beneath the pillows, always there will be sweets on the table. And I will always rattle in the spiral of your ears, a broken figurine in an unlined case, but it tickles pleasantly; the bells, the tottering footfalls, the sliding doors and water on granite, all sounds and all things bubbling at the base of your neck. Help me keep the vermin at bay,"

"Wendy, what are you saying? What's happening? You're not making sense…"

"Stanley?" Father Maxi grinned, ignoring the nonsense Wendy spewed as if she had said nothing at all.

Stan looked at her, ignoring it too, "I have waited so long to tell you this, Wendy. I have waited so long to be with you, Wendy. I want to be with you the rest of my life, and I know that…I know that girls like complicated words and sophisticated vows and all, but I can't make those. I can, but they never sound right, they're not my real words. Put simply, I want—"

"To be with you, always," A voice completed.

Stan looked from the alter, down to Kyle. He was smiling humbly,

"I want to be with you, always. I want you to be near, always. I will not rattle your cerebrum, I will not harm you, we will have no evils to keep at bay. I never cared for sweets much, anyway. I trust you, Stan. You know I do. I love you. I've always loved you, Stan. Don't you love me?"

Stan laughed nervously, glancing back at the stoic Wendy and grinning priest before looking at Kyle again,

"What are you talking about? I mean, sure, I love you, but not in a gay way, I love you like a friend. I love you how you think I love you, how you know I love you. It's different, I'm not…I'm confused,"

"I can see that. I can help, though,"

"…_Back then…I was immortal. I think that's what I miss the most."_

Kyle put his hand out, reaching up, towards Stan, spreading his fingers, tilting his hand, welcoming him.

"Stan,"

"…Kyle…"

"_Oh, Stan,__** Stan**__,"_

"Join me, in a prayer," Father Maxi continued, "Gracious God, before whom we stand: Look with favor upon this man and this woman who desire to make their vows before you and this gathering of family and friends. We are grateful for their families, which have reared them to maturity; and for the church, which has nurtured them in the faith. May they experience your presence as they pledge their lives, one to another, and may they ever walk the pleasant paths of righteousness. This we pray through Christ our Lord. Amen,"

"Amen," The choir and families and friends repeated.

Stan looked around, then back at Kyle's offering hand,

"_Stan…kiss me…"_

"Stan, come with me,"

The boy's dexterous hand pressed more unto Stan's air, "Run with me, Stan. We can get away from here. I can take you away from here. Be with me, Stan…"

Stan simply stared as Father Maxi continued,

"Love is a gift from out of the stars and into your hearts; from each of you to the other: from whom you are and who you become to the wider circle of family and friends, who are your community; from each child and parent and caring friend to you, Wendy and Stanley,"

Stan looked back to Wendy, taking her hands in his as Father Maxi recited happily,

"Love is a gift, a magnificent mystery. Love is a hard-earned treasure wrenched from the depths of mortal self-centeredness; at risk in every open and unspoken conflict; part of the struggle to give to the other without giving yourself away; endlessly demanding of you both repentance and forgiveness; every day asking something of you to prove you are worthy of the grace of such a caring relationship,"

Stan looked at their hands twined, their rings shining as he murmured,

"I know this is right. This is right, I know this is right. This is how it's supposed to feel. This is how it's supposed to be. This is how it's supposed to look and sound like. I know it. I know this is right,"

He said those words, trying hard to ignore the heaviness of Kyle's presence in the room, trying to convince himself that his empty words meant something to him. Something real. Something right.

"Love is a hard-earned treasure, a genuine moral achievement. Love is a joy, making your eyes light up and sometimes fill up; giving you laughter to uplift your souls, bringing you intense pleasure at the sound of your beloved's voice, at the very touch of a hand or lips sweetly embracing,"

"_Stan…kiss me…"_

"No. This is right. To kiss Wendy. To hold her. To love her. I love Wendy. I love her,"

"Lifting you from despair and loneliness to companionship and meaningfulness. Love is a joy, the richest blessing you can know. Love is a communion of your unity with each other; of your relation to those who are part of your circle of caring, children and relatives and friends; of your feelings for each other focused in this special moment but enduring through the past, in the present, and into the future. Of our feelings for you, as we have known you, as we know you now, as we will know you in the days ahead; of your ties to the earth, to air and water and fire, to worms and winged creatures and wolverine to man and _______, to life itself,"

"What?" Stan asked, looking to Father Maxi.

He did not respond, not explaining why one of his words was blurred out of audibility.

"Love is a communion, the circle within which we all live and move and have our being. Stanley and Kyle,"

Stan's eyes widened and he shot his gaze to his hands, and the ones he found, while still feminine and soft, were not a woman's. He looked up to see his best friend in his mother's wedding dress.

"May all that you are always be in love. May all that is love always be in you. May your love be as beautiful on each day you share as it is on this day of celebration. Devotion, joy and love can grow, only if you nurture them together just as the moon pulls and pushes the ocean, both you, Stanley and Kyle, must act together to find yourselves drowned or basking in the glory of the endless. Stand fast in that hope and confidence, believing in your shared future just as strongly as you believe in yourselves and in each other today. Only in this spirit, can you create a partnership that will strengthen and sustain you all the days of your lives. Amen,"

"Amen," Everyone repeated again.

Kyle's grip tightened and his full lips curved into his viciously beautiful smile,

"The time has come, Stan. Come with me. Run with me. Stay with me,"

Stan looked to Father Maxi, attempting to ask where Wendy had gone, where the church had gone, where his family and friends had disappeared to and why he was surrounded by all black, but no words came to his disposal. All Father Maxi did was say,

"You may,"

"Stan,"

He looked to his bride—his husband—his bride—his husband—his bride and she was crying again,

"Stanley. Stan,"

"You may," Father Maxi said again.

Stan shook his head, still not moving,

"No! What? What is happening?! What may I? I may what?"

"Stan," The priest stated.

"Stan," Wendy begged.

"Stan," Kyle smiled.

Stan's eyes began to water as Kyle leaned up on his toes slightly, dressed in his formal, teaching-apparel, "…kiss me…"

* * *

Stan woke with a jolt. He held his chest as his mother walked into his room, asking,

"Oh…Stan, you're awake?"

"Uhm…yeah," He murmured, trying to shake off the fast beating of his heart.

She entered further into the room, sighing at the mess. She ran a hand through her short brown hair and muttered,

"It's five a.m., but since you're up, if you want, you can come down to open up Christmas presents,"

Stan looked down at his blankets and his mother sat at the foot of his bed, gripping her coffee cup, her eyes tired and voice lower than when the sun was completely risen.

"What's wrong, Stanley?"

He looked up, then out his window to the snow-covered branches of the otherwise bare tree directly outside. He exhaled deeply,

"Mom…I don't…I'm feeling lost,"

She tilted her head, "Oh, I…about what?"

"Everything. I…I don't think I know who I am anymore. In September, school was fun and everything was cool…and then I joined the football team and it got Wendy to notice me, and…and everything was really, really good between me and Kyle…then two months went by and in the middle of November, he just…"

"He just what?"

"He just…stopped telling me things…"

"Telling you things like what, Stan?"

He held his forehead, his knees folding against his chest,

"I don't know. I don't know. He just used to tell me everything, and then he started hanging out with Cartman a lot and I just…I don't know. When he stopped spending time with me, I started hanging out with Kenny and Wendy and her friends and…and they make me confused…"

"Well…have you talked to Kyle about it?"

"No," He replied quickly, "I kind of…we got in a fight. I haven't spoken to him in a while. But I did ask Father Maxi about it…"

"Yeah? And what did he tell you?"

"He told me to pray for loyalty, strength and honesty, but…but, mom, I don't know what to do. I think I can pray all I want, but I've just never been…a believer, you know? I don't think I really believe in it, so I don't think it'd be of any good. I'd still be scared to face Kyle, and…I don't know where else to turn…"

She nodded, looking at his wardrobe-covered floor,

"What does Kyle do when he needs advice?"

"Che," He scoffed, "Kyle never needs advice. Kyle's a genius, mom, he never needs help,"

"_Come on. I'm going to back up and you'll glide from me, kay?"_

"_I'm going to fall."_

"_Yes, Stan. You are going to fall eventually. We all fall."_

"_Not you; you never fall."_

"_Of course I fall. Are you kidding? I've gotten bruises from falling on the ice in places I didn't even know existed. So don't worry so much. How about every time you fall, I'll fall with you, kay?"_

Why wasn't Kyle with him, then? Why wasn't Kyle fallen? Why wasn't Kyle beside him, both of them stuck on their asses? Why wasn't Kyle confused or upset? Why wasn't he lost or feeling incomplete? Where was he that he wasn't with Stan?

* * *

"Mother,"

"Yes, Brandon,"

He glanced behind him to see her. Her mild smile, her beautiful, autumn presence; so settling, so peaceful and cotton and a high of sixty-eight degrees with a cool breeze. Her voice like warm coffee, grown and smooth, every ripple and syllable shaded in the deep mahogany of her eyes. Her gentle hands like a skilled cello, not sharp enough to be a violin, something lulling and tranquil in how she knew just the right way to touch him, whether her hands found themselves caught up in his dark hair, brushing against his cheek or rubbing his broad shoulders, they were so perfect. She was so perfect for him and he loved her more and more with every passing second. He wanted to melt into her and be with her forever, and he wasn't about to hide that anymore. He stiffened his chest proudly, straightening his button-down shirt, picking up the slight slack his jeans had and he walked up to her, announcing,

"I'm in love with Bernadette Roman,"

His mother looked up from cutting up ingredients for her salad, not even noticing the said girl in the threshold of the kitchen. She was frozen,

"…you've never dated anyone else, Brandon. That's a very radical thing to be thinking,"

"I don't need to date anyone else, mother. I know what you're thinking, but I haven't got any curiosity for anyone else, I—"

"But you will when you're older, Brandon, you're still a child,"

"No, mother, I'm not. I will never wander from her, mother, she's all I need. She's all I want. She is everything. She's…" he swallowed audibly, nervous, knowing Bernadette would hear him talking all mushy about her—he was never openly very sensitive or romantic, "She's every passing second. She's every morning and every evening, she's my best friend, she's funny and sweet and smart and she's strong. She's damn strong. She's…she sings in the shower, I can hear her from the locker-room after Gym and when she wears skirts, she pulls them up so I can see just a bit of her thigh, cause she knows she drives me nuts. She helps me study and throws things at me when I fall asleep in class and she always makes sure that I'm eating right. She plays video games with me and beats me most of the time, and when she doesn't, she just hits the back of my head and curses me out!" He laughed, "She makes me tea when I've had a bad day, she sews but doesn't tell anyone that because she doesn't wanna come of too 'girly'. She hates things that have never even crossed my mind, she's sophisticated and beautiful and when she hugs me, she puts her head right in the crease of my chest and she touches at where my heart is and pets through my hair and holds me tight and she's always whispering things, romantic nothings, I know it, I know that's what it is, but she never admits it…"

He was out of breath and his mother was wide-eyed and very still. He threw his arms up in the air and let them smack at his sides before he added,

"I can go on forever like that. The point is I want to spend the rest of my life with her. I know it, I feel it when I hear her singing stupid songs after Gym, I feel it when she hitches her skirt up a little, when she explains the class notes or tosses things at my head and plays games with me and yells at me and makes me tea and…and when she holds me, I know I want to be with her forever. When she holds me, mother…it's like she's the puzzle piece to my soul and we fit together and I want to stay stuck to her forever, for the rest of my life, I just want to be with her and only her. No one else, I don't need anyone else, she completes me,"

He stepped forward, his face flushed and ears tickling with red as well. His fists clenched with determination,

"And no matter what you say or think, mother, I love her, I'm in love with her and I know I always will be and…I'm going to marry her,"

Bernadette's eyes flashed wide, her face growing redder if at all possible as she and Brandon's mother asked in unison,

"What?!"

He nodded, "That's right. I'm going to ask her to marry me,"

He turned to Bernadette, not beckoning her into the kitchen from the archway, just standing where he was left, red-faced and heart pounding.

"That's right. I'm…I'm going to ask you to marry me,"

Bernadette's hands had defaulted against her chest,

"I-I…"

Two pairs of eyes were imploring, wondering what she wanted to say. That was beyond even her. All she could do was push down tears as she ran to him and threw herself into his hold and laughed out what would have been happy tears,

"W-well, when you do, Brandon, I'm going to say yes! I'm going to say yes, Brandon, I want to be with you forever, Brandon, I love you,"

He smiled, fighting the urge to burst into his own ecstatic hysterics as he embraced her tightly, spinning her around with her legs lifting off the ground, her long hair twirling behind her, her skirt lifted just enough to reveal a bit of her thighs. He looked to his mother as he put her down, inquiring,

"Can I kiss her, mother?"

She reluctantly smiled, "Yes, Brandon. Go on,"

He grinned, kissing her sweetly in the kitchen. As he put her down he heard the clicking of her shoes and the squeaking of his own sneakers on the tiles. He combed through some of the auburn locks falling by her shoulders before pulling his lips away and saying softly,

"Hey, Bernadette…"

"Yes?"

"We graduate high school tomorrow, Bernadette,"

"I know,"

"Our schools are near each other…would you like to move in with me? We could commute; I'd even drive you if you're further,"

She giggled, "Yes, I've love to move in,"

"Hey, Bernadette…"

She was beaming, her eyes twinkling with bubbling daydreams,

"Yes?"

"Would you marry me?"

"Yes, I'd love to marry you,"

...Brandon sighed as he opened his eyes. He looked across the living room he was unfamiliar with until recently. He sat up on the couch, leaning down on his knees as he heard a voice ask,

"Are you okay?"

_I miss her…God, I miss her…_


	29. You and I Are Mortal

**Sorry for the delay, guys! Stupid computer DX**

**Thank you to all reviews/fanarts/favorites/adds so far! It's so so so so so appreciated and I hope you guys like you're newest installments!**

* * *

"We've been terribly worried about you, Kyle," Professor Boyd began.

The boy insisted that Eric not accompany him inside the building to meet with the professors to tell them what happened. Bernadette was beside him, tired looking, but otherwise as high-class and perfect as always. He was sitting at a large table in a library that seemed endless where Avinash invited him to meet. The professors, Avinash, Boyd, Palmer, McBride, Moreno, Lambert, Garner, Delgado, Doyle and Briggs were all surrounding him. Some standing, some leaning against bookcases, some sitting. Professor Garner was a Russian woman, short but pretty, very pale with glasses and a thick accent. She was sitting across from him at the table, her hands folded in front of her,

"Da, ve have been werry vorried aboot you, ve heard zat you left your class in an avful panic. Vood you like to explain yourself before ve interrogate?"

"I'm sorry, Professors, I…"

He looked to Bernadette and tried to recall her pep-talk to him in the car ride there…

* * *

"Yeah, I've known you've been gay for a while. I was the first to know you loved Stan, right?"

"Y-yeah…"

"What's going to happen to you? Will they trust you anymore? Will you lose your job?"

She laughed, turning a corner, "You're funny sometimes, Kyle. No, of course not, I will not lose my job because of your sexual orientation. Don't be silly,"

"And what happens to Kyle?" Eric asked from the back seat, leaning forward.

She sighed, "Are you wearing your seatbelt?"

"I'll answer your question when you answer mine,"

"Yeah, well if you don't answer my question, Cartman, I can turn around and hit you upside the head,"

He smirked, "No taking your eyes off the road or hands off the wheel, Mrs. Barnes, watch who you're dealing with,"

Kyle wanted to laugh at the vein slowly showing itself on Bernadette's forehead. Eric had practically forced his way into the car, arguing that he was Kyle's Super Best Friend and had an obligation to be there for him. Bernadette sighed angrily, slowly stopping at a red light and asking,

"Cartman, how is it that Kyle ended up living with you, again?"

"He was kicked out of his house,"

She looked to Kyle, wide-eyed, "Kyle? You were kicked out?"

He shrugged, trying to make it seem as if he wasn't bothered, "Y-yeah, I…and Eric owed me for a favor, so…it's no big deal,"

"Well, I suppose it's only fair to tell you that Brandon came by,"

"He did?!" Kyle practically gasped.

Eric cocked a brow, "Brandon who?"

"What did he say?"

"He…came to see if I was okay,"

"Again?"

"Who's Brandon?" Eric asked again.

"It was Christmas, he wanted a present. He brought Staci with him too,"

"What an asshole! Get a restraining order for Christ's sake! What did you give him?"

She shrugged, "Nothing of consequence,"

"WHO IS BRANDON?"

Bernadette shocked them all with a short stop, Eric thrown between the two of them, his ass in the air and torso sprawled over the dashboard and radio. He groaned in pain as Bernadette looked down at him and muttered,

"Well, I suppose you're not wearing your seatbelt,"

Kyle pouted, "Hypocrite,"

Eric looked to Kyle, "Your safety is more important than mine, idiot,"

The redhead flustered a little until Bernadette spread her hand over Eric's face and pushed him back into his seat,

"What about Brandon, though?"

"God damn it, who is this guy?"

"My ex," She stated simply.

Kyle wanted to scream. It was so much more complicated than that! He was her true love! He played Xbox and he was a lawyer, he was the only man Bernadette ever loved and they had known each other since elementary school! How could she simply label him, 'her ex'? He sighed,

"And?"

"I hold it true, whatever befall; I feel it when I sorrow most. Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all,"

"Alfred Tennyson," Cartman interjected.

Bernadette nodded, "Indeed,"

"What does that even mean?" Kyle complained.

Before more could be said, they were parked and she was looking right at Kyle. She looked glanced to Eric every few words as she told them both,

"Look, no matter what happens now, it's out and people know. Your secret is no longer yours; it's the world's and that's something you've gotten the chance to cry over and scream over and panic over, but now it's time to be over your mourning and own it,"

She put a hand on Kyle's shoulder,

"Own it, Kyle. You are what you are, be proud, be strong. Own up to what you are. So what are you, Kyle?"

"…I'm…gay?"

"Damn right, say it again,"

"I'm gay…"

"Elaborate, Kyle, why are you gay?"

Kyle blushed, "Do we really need to do this, this is kind of---"

"Do it!" She ordered.

"I'm gay!" He shouted in surprise, "I'm gay because I'm in love with Stan Marsh!"

Eric leaned in, "Yeah? And what do you wanna do with him?"

"WHAT?!" Kyle blushed furiously; he was beginning to get the feeling that they were ganging up on him.

"Say it, Kyle. Own it, it's all you. It's who you are. You see, it's not what you want in your life that makes you who you are, Kyle," She leaned in closer, "It's what you're daring enough to get in your life that makes you who you are. So if you want a boyfriend, say it. If you want sex, say it! If you want to wear flip-flops and v-neck shirts, you do it, damn it! So, go on! Tell me what you want!"

Kyle's hands tightened, his face bright red as he announced,

"I-I do want a boyfriend! I do want sex! I do want to dress stereotypically, not because I want to be judged, but because it's tasteful, damn it!"

Eric and Bernadette laughed, both patting him on opposite shoulders. The woman smiled,

"No matter what they decide, you're a hero to us,"

Eric grinned, his eyes twinkling and enrapturing Kyle, tickling his bravery and making his chest swell with pride,

"Yeah, loser. I'm fuckin' proud of you,"

* * *

"I…I had a very disabling panic attack because one of my students and former acquaintances announced that I was homosexual,"

Professor Avinash cocked a brow,

"Is that so?"

"Uhm…yes, sir,"

"I am assuming these accusations are true, then?"

"They are, sir,"

He nodded, touching his chin,

"Well, I won't lie, I'm awfully disappointed,"

Kyle let his chin hit his chest, hoping to feel Bernadette's hand on his under the table in comfort soon. However he didn't have the time to think more on that because Avinash continued,

"I thought you had more self control than that. In any case, don't let it happen again. Consider every subjection to your anxiety another month added onto your teaching,"

Kyle looked up, "Sir?"

"What?"

"You…you said you were disappointed…"

"Yes, there's the self-control part and I was looking forward to you meeting my daughter, but no worries," He grinned, "I've got a son too,"

"Sir!?"

Professor Garner smiled cutely, "Vut, Kyle? Did you zink zat ve ver going to hate you for zis?"

"Well, frankly, yes!" He couldn't help the smile that spread over his face, "Yes, I did…I didn't think you'd take me seriously anymore,"

"Well, you're the first homosexual to ever get the chances we're throwing at you without incredible obstacles, but we're smart here, Kyle," Avinash added, "Smart enough not to have prejudices like that,"

He was speechless as Professor Boyd inquired,

"Was it Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart who said, 'Neither a lofty degree of intelligence nor imagination nor both together go to the making of genius. Love, love, love, that is the soul of genius'? Yes, it's what we live by,"

"Because the world is too dangerous for anything but the truth, and too small for anything but love so said William Sloane Coffin," Professor Palmer interjected.

Kyle beamed, "So…so I can continue working with you?"

Professor Avinash patted his head, "As long as you're willing to come to a lunch with me and my son,"

Kyle blushed, laughing, "A-absolutely, thank you so much! Thank you!"

Bernadette's sweet hand covered his shoulder, smiles reflecting each other around the room. Her hold was calming and like a lucid dream he felt completely accepted again, he felt like it was a secret again, like life was back to how it used to be, just somehow better.


	30. Not As Planned

"So…is your plan going well?"

Kenny sighed, rolling over onto his side to watch Wendy slipping on her night gown. He couldn't have been less interested in her, but she was a good companion in such a hard time for him. Unfeeling, uncaring, completely devoured in her own problems to even notice he had any; that was the kind of person he wished for. His friends were too good to him, he knew that and it pained him to know he was not repaying their kindness. And so the person who was equally cruel to him, or more uncaring than him was just the perfect fit. He closed his eyes, resting his head on her frilly, lacy pillow,

"No. No, it's not, he's still obsessed with Kyle…I'm starting to think it was no use to begin with,"

"Still? Come on, it's been years. I'm sure he'll come around. There's no way that they'd last like that forever,"

"Well, I'm starting to think Kyle might be bi or even straight,"

"What?"

"Yeah," He paused, opening his eyes again to meet Wendy's quizzical stare, "You know I've been keeping good track of him and, well, it looks like he's spending most of his time with Mrs. Barnes,"

"Whoa, cougar, much?"

"I'm not sure. I can't listen in to their conversations or anything, you know I can't afford that kind of spy equipment," He sighed, looking away, "I dunno. He laughs a lot with her, I saw them cooking together, he made her a CD for her fucking car…I dunno, it just looks like they're…flirting,"

"…are you sure? I mean, that's a pretty serious accusation considering your only evidence is that he made her a CD,"

"It's not…" He huffed, "I don't know anymore. When I put this plan into action I thought it'd go a lot faster and I didn't know there was more to him, ya know? I just wanted what I wanted and…maybe I've been acting stupid because I've been selfish…maybe I didn't think of something, maybe I'm missing something…"

"When you told me the rough draft of this idea I knew you covered every inch of all the possibilities, Kenny…I highly doubt you missed something,"

"…what if Kyle doesn't…love him? What if Kyle doesn't just go for guys? What if he's getting involved with—"

"Shut up already, I'm getting bored,"

Kenny rolled his eyes and turned onto his back, slipping his arms under his head, trying to appear relaxed although his head pounded with doubt. He heard Wendy shuffle a little, then felt the bed tilt slightly as she sat down on the side. He looked to her,

"Bebe wouldn't tolerate that kind of talk from you,"

"Shut up, asshole,"

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but whips and chains excite me, so throw me down, tie me up and show me that you like me," He winked.

She rolled her eyes, "You've been here all day, when do you plan on leaving?"

"Dunno. Dad kicked me out cause he found my blog,"

"Holy shit, really?" She almost laughed.

"Yeah, and on the side of the page I have 'Cunt of the Week', as always, and this week was Mom and he got pissed,"

"You're so friggin' stupid sometimes,"

"Yeah, I know," He exhaled deeply as he got up and off her bed, tucking his hands into his pockets, "I'll leave you then,"

"Hey…"

"Yeah?" He turned at the door.

"How…how has Bebe been?"

He cocked a brow, letting his hand fall away from the knob,

"…that's unlike you to ask,"

"Well, you're like, the only person that still talks to her…I just…I've just been thinking about her lately. How was her Christmas? Has she got a boyfri—…girlfriend? I just…has she been okay?"

"Yeah," Kenny turned away again, opening the door.

Wendy shot up, her fists tight and face flushed, "W-what?! That's it? I asked you questions, Kenny! Tell me!"

The blonde chuckled before looking to her again,

"I've never seen you so animated about anything before,"

"Shut up, Kenny, tell me what I want to know,"

"Heh," He shrugged, "Beats me what she did for Christmas, I was at a party. No, she won't date,"

"Why won't she date?"

Kenny was unused to the sound of concern in Wendy's voice. It sounded innocent and sweet and unfamiliar. He didn't like it.

"Because you made it so that no one would date her anyway, she doesn't try. She knows about all the rumors you spread and she knows what everyone thinks of her. If you hadn't outted her before she was ready, she may have had a girlfriend by now, but, hey, that's how the cookie crumbles,"

Wendy looked aggravated again, although it seemed more self-directed.

"…is she okay?"

He laughed again, "No, you fucking idiot, she's not. She hasn't been okay since you happened to her,"

With a smile plastered on his face in fake delight Wendy crossed her arms over her chest,

"Just get out of here,"

"You got it," He waved her off before exiting the room.

She wouldn't look at the door or her muted television screen or any of the posters on her light pink walls, only stared at the side of her bedding. She moved her eyes up slightly to see a small teddy-bear she slept with every night, though she claimed it was only for decoration…

* * *

"You're so pretty," Wendy complimented.

Bebe blushed, looking into the same bathroom mirror in the room next to her own bedroom. She paused in brushing her long, blonde hair to look at Wendy in their reflections and smiled humbly,

"Thanks, Wen, you're really pretty too, you know,"

"But you have the bigger boobs,"

Bebe laughed, "That's hardly got anything to do with being pretty!"

"It does too! You've got the blue eyes, blonde hair and big boobs. It's because your mom's Swedish,"

She giggled again, "That's really sweet of you, Wendy, thank you…but you are really pretty, big boobs or not,"

"Thanks, Bebe," Wendy flustered a little; unsure of why it made her heart thump strangely.

"Come on," She dropped the brush and dragged Wendy by her wrists to her bedroom.

It was light blue with clouds and stars painted all around and a crescent somewhere on the ceiling that Wendy couldn't recall. Bebe had a round bed and three bean-bag chairs surrounding it; no computer, no television, just an old-fashioned radio. She'd leave it on stations that would play crackled recordings of Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra until around ten o'clock, then they'd play the American Anthem and sign off. It sat on her bedside table that was shaped like a white semi-circle, holding all of her clothing and on top of that was all her jewelry. Her favorite accessories were earrings; she had a pair for every shirt color she owned, even the patterned ones. Her closet was a walk-in, like Wendy's, and everything was organized perfectly due to her OCD, all the hangers the same width and color facing the same direction, every garment organized in seasonal order and color order. Wendy loved that about her; all of it made her so…cute.

"What's the date?" She asked, plopping onto her bed. Wendy pulled up her pajama pants as she followed and jumped onto the girl's back.

Bebe blushed with a grunt at the weight of Wendy falling on top of her, turning to face Wendy over her shoulder she stammered,

"W-Wendy,"

"It is the tenth of July," She giggled, looking over Bebe's full hair to see her writing in a small book.

"What's that?"

"It's a type of diary. I've got a diary that I write in every day, a diary full of inspirational quotes and poems and this one is my super, special, secret diary,"

Wendy grinned, reaching forward, but out of reach of the book,

"Lemme see!"

"No! Then it wouldn't be a super-special-secret diary!"

They were in middle school and shouldn't have been talking like pre-schoolers, but that's just how they were. They found amusement in it, if nothing else. Wendy frowned rolling off of Bebe too slowly to catch her off guard and before Wendy could do anything the book was hidden away. The blonde leaned back, her chest causing a strange distraction to Wendy as she rubbed the top of her index finger to Wendy,

"Tsk, tsk, Ms. Testaburger! That wouldn't have been nice of you,"

"Oh, but I wanna see now!"

"How about this," She smiled, taking her favorite teddy-bear and handing it to Wendy, "I'll give you Mrs. Winthrop in turn for you to not hunt down my diary,"

Wendy touched her chin in contemplation, then quickly claimed the toy, holding it tightly to her chest,

"I'll take good care of her and you can visit her whenever you like,"

Bebe smiled, "Thanks, Wendy,"

* * *

Wendy's eyes began to water and she lunged forward, grabbing the toy and throwing it across the room so it violently hit the wall and fell into her wastebasket. She looked at her bed and it inexplicably appeared strangely empty now. That bed had housed many boys in her time, none that ever actually cared about her. The ones that did care, actually, didn't know the real her; their care wasn't true, they didn't know the true her. It made her stomach feel weak and for what seemed like the millionth time since her and Bebe parted ways, she burst into tears and crumpled on the side of her bed. Her knees turned inward, her feet followed suit and her curled hands held her forehead as she leaned against her silky legs.

_She'd be so disgusted with me if she knew how many times I'd spread my legs…she'd hate me, so much if she knew…_


	31. Liar, Liar Burn In Hell

"Where has Brandon been? It's been almost two months now, and you haven't said a thing about him,"

Bernadette sighed, "What? You think he's comin' over for Valentine's Day or something?"

Kyle shrugged, adding pink dye to the mix of icing, "I dunno, I guess. How much longer do we have to see?"

"It's the twelfth, so we've got two more days,"

"Are you hoping he'll show?"

"I don't know what I'm hoping for anymore,"

Kyle looked down sadly, but brought himself out of the bout of sorrow when Bernadette turned around with her vanilla cake he had helped bake with her. She put it on the table Kyle was working at; eggs, powder, sugar and milk was plastered all over their aprons. He looked from the cake to the woman and smirked. She cocked a brow,

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing, I guess…even after knowing you for all this time, I guess I never thought of you as especially feminine or anything and…well, you're in an apron and we're making cake and all, and it just seems like…I dunno, you turned out to be totally different than how I imagined you to be,"

"I guess it's to be expected. I mean, you never know anyone until you examine,"

"Examine what? Behavior?"

"All of it. I mean, I never would have known how perceptive you were besides your papers had you not announced to me that you knew I was sneaking rum into my Diet Coke. That's a huge sign to a personality trait, compared to someone who would be too scared to state such a thing. You were someone who, by simply saying you knew I was drinking, illustrated a respect and comfort level with me, and by my response I was able to see that you expected similar treatment from me, displaying a specific level of maturity, social eloquence and flexibility. It's a lot of little things that pull a person together. You get to watch me up close, and knowing you, you're deducting every single syllable that spills from my mouth, every gesture and dart of my eyes in hopes of better understanding my psyche simply…because you're curious,"

She smiled sweetly, "It's still too hot to put the icing on,"

Kyle mirrored her expression, "Want me to put up tea?"

"I'd love that,"

She walked out of his way as he set up her teapot and sat on her bar stool that sat around the center table in the kitchen. She rested her chin in her palm, inquiring to Kyle's back,

"It's February, Kyle, how have you been handling the work load at school?"

"The kids have been great," He stated, "I'm really enjoying the advanced placement classes. I hate to play favorites, but the regulars don't enjoy the literature or in-class discussions as much. In any case, I've been handling myself fine. Eric doesn't let me do my morning runs except for the week ends and he's been cooking every meal, doing all the shopping and cleaning, even helping me grade some papers…he's been really wonderful," He turned around from the oven, resting his back against the counter as he crossed his arms over his chest, "I've found myself with…free time, actually. I've been reading a lot,"

"Oh? What've you been reading?"

"Eric's poetry and original pieces, actually,"

"Are they any good?"

"Phenomenal," He beamed, his eyes lighting up, "It's all beautiful. It's just, it's amazing. I mean, everything is a gigantic reflection of how he was raised, who he's become, of all he's been through, it's all…really, living with him has been a pleasure. He's been absolutely amazing, completely supportive, fun and…he's been great, really, really great,"

"Sounds like moving out of your parents' house was a good move,"

"Seems like it, but I miss Ike," His eyes lowered a little, "He's probably been struggling with his homework and all since I used to help him with that when I got home…"

"You're still a kid, Kyle,"

He looked up to her as she let her arm fall and her disinterested look melted away to empathy and understanding in the magical way her pretty face always could. Kyle thought Brandon must have loved that so much about Bernadette; he must have loved to get her drop her guards down every once and again.

"Don't forget that. You're supposed to be the one being taken care of, not the other way around,"

He shrugged, "Yeah, I know,"

"Do you?"

He glanced at her, but the teapot began to sing and he moved his attention to that rather than falling into a self-searching discussion. He poured two giant mugs full of tea and sat down with her, thinking they must have looked ridiculous; both in frilly aprons, covered in cake-debris, their shoeless feet curling around the bars of the stools, sipping tea out of cups much too large for either of their hands. She breathed in the steam peacefully and nodding towards the window above the sink,

"Look," She said.

He turned and saw a snowstorm beginning. Kyle tilted his head, his full lips mimicking the action,

"As majestic as it is, it makes me worry. I know Eric must be at home wondering where the hell I am," He chuckled, "You know, Stan and I would go and play in this kind of weather when we were younger. Back when there was no such thing as pneumonia or the flu or other horrific illnesses we knew about. He would always try to trick me into putting my hat on after it was stuffed with snow, much like the way you think I don't know you are putting liquor in your tea and taking your anti-depressants with it while my back is turned," He turned back around to catch her fingers placing the white little pill on her tongue, her eyes wide.

"I've always known. You can't get away with that kind of behavior with me,"

She took her pill in spite of him, smirking and telling him,

"You've always been very perceptive,"

"Doesn't take a genius to know when they're talking to a liar,"

It wasn't really an insult. Not between them. Just a fact. She cocked a brow, taking down a sip of tea after saying with a bitter undertone,

"Doesn't take a genius to know when they're talking to a liar, just takes one to know one,"

* * *

"Again?"

He froze.

"You should've just told me from the start, but you gave me the responsibility of practically hunting you down to tell you that I know,"

"…how did you—"

"Erratic work hours, creased clothes, sloppy buttons, sometimes even undone, missing ties…working on vacations," She looked at him in the hall from the living-room couch, the only source of light being the twinkle in his iris as she heard the clunk of his suitcase hitting the tiled floor, "…so," She took a sip from her giant mug, ran a hand through her hair, "Again?"

"Again, what?" He said frightfully.

"Another late night at the office?"

"…what…?"

She exhaled deeply, "You're an awful liar. Even caught in the act and you don't…don't take responsibility for it. You've just come home from fucking your secretary and you can't just fess up? You can't just say, 'Yes, Bernadette, I've been cheating on you'? It's all I want to hear right now,"

"…yes, Bernadette…I've been…involved with another woman,"

"Beautifully done, Brandon," Her voice was carrying a sarcastic tone, although her anger was slipping out a little, "What should we do about it, then?"

"You don't sound like you've been crying,"

"I haven't been,"

"…what the fuck is that supposed to mean?" He asked, exasperated.

"What? Was that your goal? You wanted me to cry?"

"Well, to be straight with you, Bernadette, you haven't cried since our wedding day,"

"And what does that mean? That I don't have feelings?"

He walked into the dimly lit living-room, the calm rain drizzling on their windows and the starlight leaking in lit the floor and their silhouettes, the running water down the glass coloring their ebony shapes with puddles. He was disheveled and she looked away with a gasp of disgust; she almost gagged. She hid it well, though.

"We should not shed tears. That is a surrender of the body to the heart. It is only proof that we are beings that do not know what to do with our hearts,"

"I'm so sick of this literary game with you, Bernadette. What British philosopher spewed that shit now?"

"My father,"

He stiffened and she found that his very being in the room was making her heart tense and squirm with anxiety and pain. She held her forehead, and knowing she was prone to anemia, he leaned in to ask her if she was okay or feeling faint, but the moment his hand approached her, she smacked it away. The crackling sound of it echoed through the house like a dormant volcano, hurt so evident in her aura, so blatant in the electric effort it took to face him, talk to him, use her strength against him, he could finally see how his lies had struck her like lightning through the sky and the atoms in the air weren't to collide in thunder until it was too horrid to reverse any pain done to her tattered and worn heart.

"I'm sorry,"

"No you're not," She stood, the darkness of the room hiding the streams falling down her face from him, "Not yet,"

Her voice never wavered, her nose never sniffled, her eyes betrayed her silently as she walked by him and announced,

"I won't divorce you. You know that,"

"Then I'll leave you, Bernadette,"

"I don't want you to,"

He threw his fists by his sides, twisting around to see her outline on the staircase,

"I'm not staying with a sociopath that sits around all the Goddamn time, talking about fucking term papers of fifteen year olds I don't give a shit about! You drink tea and talk about philosophy till you're blue in the face, you know I don't do that gibberish! You haven't a clue to what it's like to have a real job, Bernadette, one where you're not babysitting all Goddamn day and actually making more than minimum wage!"

"You've never acted like this before,"

He huffed, "And?"

"It's fascinating, that's all,"

"Oh, shut the fuck up. Leave me, Bernadette, I know you want to,"

"If I'm the sociopath you think I am, it would be out of character for me to care at all about you cheating on me, Brandon. Why would I want or care for you to leave?"

"Brilliant," He pursed his lips like would when he was frustrated, "So, what? You married me because it was convenient for you?"

"That's insulting. It scares me how little you know about me,"

"That's it! You don't yell at me, Bernadette! You don't scream or care or show any signs of interest in anything but your students anymore! It's sickening!"

She couldn't control her anger anymore and her voice cracked as she screamed and threw her arms in the air, liquid splattering from her mug and hitting in droplets on the stars,

"You want to know what's fucking sickening? The taste of another woman on your fucking mouth!"

They both were taken aback by the shout, and she didn't give him time to breathe before she continued,

"You are a lying, conniving, devious, generic, typical lawyer who drinks in the Goddamn office and fucks his secretaries for a guffaw. You're just an asshole, Brandon. You broke my heart just to see if I had one," She threw her mug down from the steps and it shattered with an enormous crashing sound and liquid spilled all over the floor, "And it was coffee, bastard,"

With that she stormed up the stairs and slammed the bedroom door behind her as a sign of ownership and closure all in one.

* * *

"Can I hear some of anything Eric wrote?"

Kyle nodded, "Let me get my bag, one minute,"

He left for the living-room, retrieving his briefcase and finding his paperwork, in said pile finding his special folder for all of Eric's personal writing. He picked out a specific poem he liked and returned to the kitchen, sitting down again and looking at the loose-leaf before him, written in Eric's middle-school handwriting,

"Run your fingers through my soul  
tangle me and lose control  
knots and knots of mistakes  
rope so tight, it snaps and breaks

Throw your thoughts over my head  
waste your wishes on the dead  
leaves and leaves of unwanted lives,  
collect at my feet and tickle like knives

Force your sins down my throat  
sink me deep then watch me float  
buckets and buckets of un-fallen rain  
you're always catching what you fail to contain

Steal my eyes and read my lips  
the answer is right at your fingertips  
hints and hints of sparkling spirit  
my secret is screaming, you just need to hear it

Steer the road deep into my skin  
I'll drive until I find where I've been  
memories and memories of forgetting  
I've abandoned the stage that still needs setting

Walk your fingers across my spine  
cast me away and take what's mine  
start me up and drive me far  
leave me stranded but take your car

Bleed your presence in my mind  
think of me crawling and falling behind  
photos and photos of a single frame  
it's you and i in this dangerous game

It's you and I, although you never asked to play  
I couldn't say no, I just had to obey  
years and years with the rules you abuse  
no matter how strong of a player i am,  
I always seemed to lose,"

Kyle folded the paper again and tucked it into his jean pocket,

"That's titled 'Won't Be Long Before I'm Gone',"

Bernadette smirked, "He is amazing,"

"I know," Kyle grinned, "My favorite student,"

"Don't let your landlord get the good grades for housing you,"

Kyle rolled his eyes, "Yeah, I'll keep track of that,"

"You should get going. The storm's only going to get worse. You need a ride?"

"No, I've taken Ellie,"

"…Ellie?"

"Our car,"

They both blushed a little and Kyle's heart skipped a beat; before Bernadette could say anything he corrected himself,

"Eric's car, I mean. It's Eric's car…I'll…I'll see you tomorrow, Bernadette,"

He walked out to the car, unlocking the door…

…_what is going on with me?_


	32. Times Are AChangin'

**Thanks for being so patient, everyone! XP More updates for you! Thank you to all adds, reviews and fanart, it's all SO SO SO SO APPRECIATED!**

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The sun was setting and accenting his room with different colors than he had never noticed before that quiet hour. He went to push his ebony bang, expecting it to fall back into place as it always did, however, since he got his hair cut as Zac Efron's to suit Wendy's taste, it was no longer a bother to him. He sighed. What he hated the most were these lonely moments. Moments where he could only listen to white noise, force his shaking eyelids to close in hopes of stealing a few lucid seconds of sleep, but it would never come. His arms were spread by his sides, his chest falling in and out with every tired breath, his hands empty, his heart hallow and his stomach feeling oddly twisted; not yet painfully or nauseously, but shamefully. He put his hands up onto his forehead, closing his eyes, his brows tightening as a headache began to form. He twined his fingers, his palms warming his forehead as he wondered to himself,

_When was the last time…I was happy?_

He couldn't lie, not to himself. He had been laughing a lot with Wendy and her friends. Sometimes they'd cut class to smoke, and when they planned on doing English or Biology projects together, they'd all end up smoking again too. Kenny would remind him over and over, how Stan should see that Kyle could never understand this kind of fun. That Kyle wouldn't like this kind of entertainment. They would bake and Wendy would order three pizzas at a time, still barely satisfying the group of kids and he would take her to cheesy movies on the weekends and earn some tongue. It felt ill-won, though. He wasn't entirely enjoying himself, and so he felt as if he was lying to her. In reality, he got paranoid when he smoked pot with her and her friends, and it always resulted in a stomach-ache. He got nervous about cutting too much class and failing his finals; if he had to go to summer school, his parents would kill him. He was beginning to allow his social life to dominate his academic life, thus his grades were suffering and he was no longer on the football team due to cutting practice. He didn't like cheesy movies, even if he did get to make out with a beautiful girl afterward. When he was sitting next to her in that dark theater, he'd remember going to the movies with Kyle.

He'd think of all the horror movies they'd see together and all the times he, Kyle, Cartman and Kenny would spend there, trying to scare themselves. He laughed quietly to himself at recalling a time at the movies when a suspenseful scene scared Cartman so off-guard that he farted and dropped his candy and soda all over the floor. They all laughed hysterically for the next ten minutes, disturbing everyone else in the theater, but they didn't matter. He remembered sitting next to Kyle; the redhead loved the middle seats of the center aisle. Stan never thought hard on the memories of feeling somewhat flustered whenever Kyle would squeeze by, practically sitting on his lap. He opened his eyes again and could still see Kyle. He could hear him laughing at the fat boy's expense, his face illuminated by the movie screen, his teeth and eyes sparkling in the otherwise blind cinema. He scowled, feeling an angry itch in his chest. That was before. Before the glasses, before he cared about what he wore, before he talked to Stan in such an unmoved and stoic voice, before he treated Stan like he was the school's biggest bully, before he spent every waking moment with Cartman, before he started ruining Stan's English average, before…

He covered his eyes as he closed them, writhing and whining as he pressed into his head. Before he outted him to everyone. Some of the more cruel, sadistic kids at South Park High praised him for pulling such a social taboo, others completely shunned him. Wendy jokingly called those people the 'Untouchables', which sickened Stan. She said those people didn't matter, but if it was true, why did he feel so awful? What was it that made it wrong? He broke a promise to Kyle; something he swore he'd never do. He risked every fiber of Kyle's developing social life that he had trained himself for since elementary school by overloading on responsibilities. There was a lot wrong with what he had done. One word. One word and the world was over. One word and everything changed.

Faggot.

What an awful sound.

What an awful word.

"Stan,"

He looked to his open bedroom door, Shelly looking pensively at him.

"Yeah?"

"…your cellphone got a text downstairs…"

The only person who he ever texted was Kyle. And the only person that texted him, was Kyle. He sat up slowly, knowing that Shelly knew this.

"When?"

She tossed him the device, it hit his hands with a slapping sound and she shrugged,

"About a half hour ago. I was watching Bridezillas, and couldn't walk away to give you your phone,"

He rolled his eyes; normally he would laugh too, but recently he had run out of fake humor or even the energy to mimic any form of happiness. Shelly rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly,

"Uhm…are you doing any better?"

"Not really,"

"Well, to kick you while you're down, then…I found out that Kyle got kicked out of his house,"

Stan's eyes shot open wide, his shoulders tensing and chest contracting, stomach churning,

"W-what?! Why?"

"Apparently the day you called him a…you-know-what, it ended up all over Facebook and stuff and he didn't want his parents to find out through that, so he told his parents the truth before they could find out on the computer. They kicked him out over a month ago,"

"How did you find this out?" Stan begged, his headache worsening.

"His little brother called here to ask if he was staying here. Apparently they haven't heard from him for a while and they don't know for sure where he's been staying, they just know he's been going to work every day, but he won't answer his cellphone for them," She answered sorrowfully.

Stan bent his head.

He had forgotten about Ike.

What would Ike think of him? Would he hate Stan? Would he think that Stan was a good-for-nothing? Would he no longer approve of Stan being Kyle's friend? After all, he had known Ike since he was just a baby. He was just as much Ike's brother as Kyle. He told himself it was nothing to think on too long, because it was clear what Ike was thinking of Stan. He didn't ask to speak to him on the phone. He felt embarrassed. What if Ike knew what he'd been up to? What if Ike found out that Stan quit football and left Kyle alone with Cartman just to smoke pot and date a floozy girl like Wendy? He inwardly slapped himself, cursing himself for saying such a thing about Wendy. But it was the truth. She was floozy. She changed her boyfriends as frequently as she changed her underwear and Stan had assumed he'd be no different. What he was struggling with, really, was that he 'was' different to her. Rather than dumping him, she was simply sleeping with other guys on the side. He had known about this for two weeks now, but he didn't know what to do about it. Initially, he didn't feel anything. He wasn't entirely shocked, he wasn't really depressed, he didn't feel betrayed or stupid, but he didn't see or feel any reason to confront her about it. In fact, he was almost glad to be rid of her during the nights she was 'sleeping over her friend's house'. Yeah, sure, a friend, a real good friend.

Then again, he had played tonsil hockey with his own best friend before dry-humping him until he was literally forced off him. He couldn't be angry at her if it was her friends. He had done the same thing, then.

"Well…anyway, I'll talk to you later,"

"Shelly,"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think…Mom would…or Dad would ever take Kyle in?"

Shelly cocked a brow, opening the door more so she could lean against the frame,

"What are you talking about?"

"I mean, Kyle's gay…do you think Mom or Dad would still take care of him and…love him and stuff if he needed them to?"

It looked as if Shelly knew what Stan was really trying to ask, which petrified Stan, but she showed no other sign of interpreting in any other way than it was asked.

"I don't know. They'd probably be hesitant, but, you have to understand that we have a different situation at home. Kyle is the Broflovski's only blood-son, the only one capable of passing on their genes. They wanted grandchildren that looked like them, ya know? That's why it's so devastating to them. Whereas, here, even if you turned out gay, they still have me to bear kids when I decide I'm ready, and if I turned out gay, they still have you to get some lucky girl to pump out a couple pups. Based only on the fact that he's gay, I don't think our parents would stop loving him or caring about him, but things would definitely change,"

Stan nodded, looking away, "…yeah. Thanks,"

"Sure,"

"Hey, one more thing," He stopped her in the middle of shutting his door.

"Yeah?"

"…there was a picture of me and Kyle that used to hang on my wall, but…it's gone, I can't…find it. Have you seen it anywhere? It's us at summer camp in the sixth grade…we're on one of the dropping-rollercoasters where they take a photo of you looking like you shit your pants when you drop…it's a really good picture, but I misplaced it…"

She frowned, "Sorry, Stan, haven't seen it,"

"Alright…keep an eye out, please,"

"Why?"

Stan's brows furrowed, "What do you mean 'why'? That picture is important to me,"

"Yeah, but, isn't that why you shouldn't keep it? I mean…shouldn't you start to pull away a bit?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, Stan, you're not friends anymore. It's like keeping an ex-boyfriend's jewelry, you just don't do it. You get rid of everything that reminds you of that person so it's easier to forget them,"

_Forget…Kyle?_

Was he even capable of that?

"…_honestly, I was just scared you wouldn't want to be my friend anymore."_

"_I'm only half of me without you, Stan, you bring me to my optimum. There's no me without you, but even if I had the choice to stand while you fell, Stan, I wouldn't; half of me could never appreciate stability as much as a whole of me could treasure being at rock bottom with you."_

"…_I'd never leave you alone here. Stan, I promised that when you fell, I fell with you. That doesn't mean that when I rise you stay down. You come up with me. Wherever they take me or send me to, you're coming with me."_

"_I'm so glad I've got you,"_

"_I just know that no one could ever get me like you do. No one could put up with me and how crazy I am, you know?"_

"…_you always make me feel…so protected,"_

"_You're always the hero,"_

Always his hero. Smoking pot, ditching class, giving up on work…he was nobody's hero.

There was no way to ever forget Kyle Broflovski. So smart, so smooth, so sly, clever, funny and bizarre, so interesting and agreeable, so wonderful in every way.

* * *

"I need a nap," Kyle rubbed his eyes cutely with the back of his curled hands, wandering into the living room with an oversized t-shirt on for pajamas, "I'm exhausted,"

Eric smirked at him from the couch, "Alright, you can go to sleep, it's pretty late anyway,"

"What needs to get done tomorrow?"

Eric was getting used to this routine. Kyle would announce before going to bed on Friday nights, then ask what needed to be done for the weekend. He kept the house clean with Eric with daily chores, and on those weekdays Eric would help Kyle grade papers and tests and if there was extra time left over before Kyle's 'bedtime', they would slip in a video game or two. Every Saturday they would usually do a deep house-cleaning and as of that recent month, Kyle had been helping clean out boxes left behind by Eric's mother that he could never go through alone, and so never touched. They would stay up to watch Saturday Night Live and every Sunday Kyle would go grocery shopping with him again. Their set up was perfect and Eric was beginning to feel like he had a family again. His family used to be him and his mother. He was okay with it being small, isolated, one person in the world to turn to. When she left him forever, he was convinced that he would never have that again. But lo and behold, Kyle Broflovski found his way into Eric's living room in a giant t-shirt, asking what he could do to help him for the weekend.

"Ellie needs a check up,"

"Is she feeling okay?"

"Yeah, as far as I can tell, but it's been a while since I took her to the shop,"

Kyle smiled, his eyes low and tired, "Well, I'm sure she'll be nervous, you know how she hates people looking at her taillights, so I won't tell her anything,"

Eric chuckled, "Alright, thanks. Anyway, I've gotta take my bike to get back to the house after I drop her off, so you should be prepared to ride on the back handles tomorrow,"

"Why would I go with you to the shop?"

Eric looked alarmed, "That's our Ellie going for a check up! What kind of question is that?"

Kyle stiffened, "Sorry,"

Eric laughed, "I'm joking. I mean, your parental support is appreciated, Mommy, but I also wanted to take you somewhere,"

"Mommy?! Why am I the Mommy?!"

"Is that a serious question, Kye?"

He rolled his eyes, blushing as he shuffled awkwardly and crossed his arms,

"Where do you want to take me?"

"You'll see when I take you,"

"That's a stupid answer, tell me where you're taking me,"

"You'll see. Now go to bed,"

Kyle stood there frozen for a few moments as Eric turned his attention back to the flickering television set. He yawned and muttered something about going to bed soon as well. Kyle ran a hand through his hair and walked over to Eric, leaning down while pulling at the hem of his shirt to cover down to his mid-thigh. He turned his head and pressed his full lips tenderly and cutely on Eric's cheek. The boy immediately flooded with color, his heart booming in his chest and ears and he quickly looked to Kyle when he pulled his lips away. He held his cheek in shock as the redhead backed away a few steps, his head bowed,

"I know I've been a burden recently. I just wanted to thank you, Eric,"

"Y-yeah…you know you can count on me,"

"I do now," He lifted his smile and sparkling eyes, "Good night, Eric,"

"Yeah, night,"

The boy held the sides of his shirt, suddenly very self-conscious about any of his bits showing. He quickly ascended the staircase and disappeared into the guestroom that had become his bedroom over the past month. Eric's index finger and middle finger touched at where he could still feel the resonation of sensation left by Kyle's kiss and he stared at his digits. As if he could see the kiss on his very fingerprints. He hesitantly took his fingers and pressed them against his lips, closing his eyes and trying to imagine what a life with Kyle would be like. A life like this, so serene, quiet, nurtured and sweet. He wondered why Stanley Marsh would want to look into anyone's eyes but Kyle's, smell anyone's scent but Kyle's, taste anyone's kiss but Kyle's, feel anyone's touch but Kyle's for all his life.

"He really is a fool,"

* * *

Kyle was lying on his bed, stretching his legs to prepare for his morning jog so that when he woke his legs wouldn't be so reluctant to move. He held his foot in the air, revealing much of himself to the closed bedroom door with his leg lifted up in the air. He bent his knee so that it touched the caving of his ribs and sighed. Sighed contentedly. Yes, it was fair to say he was content. He had a job, a promising future, distinguished colleagues, two very good friends, a place to stay that made him feel at home and his health. He couldn't ask for more. That didn't mean he didn't want more. In all the wonder and flood of satisfactory adequateness, there was no elation, no euphoria, no oasis in all the bland of undying settle. The one who gave him happiness, ultimate happiness, was the one person that gave him the most infuriation. The one who always copied his homework, the one who always forced Kyle out of his house, the one who would sneak over uninvited, the one who would put shaving cream in all his shoes when he slept over, the one who always burnt the breakfast toast. He was the one who would prank call him at three in the morning, he was the one who openly ridiculed him for his femininity, he was the one who couldn't write a passing essay on syntax to save his life, he was the one always beating him at his own video games, he was the one always taking advantage of every leeway and gift Kyle gave to him without dropping an inkling of ever returning any favor. But that's just it.

He was the one.

Kyle sighed, dropping his leg and listening to it huff against the covers. He recalled hearing in the Teacher's Lounge that Stan had quit football. That came as a shock, but with his recent behavior, it was only the natural course of action he supposed. He found that slowly it was becoming less and less easy to think of Stan with his heart. It was becoming a thought process; what was logical and what was not when it came to Stan and what he said and did nowadays. When he used to imagine Stan his heart would nearly stop, his blood would tickle, his chest would swell, his lips would warm, his cheeks would flush, he could hear violins playing and birds singing. He had deducted that due to his high-maintenance need for stability, that he tucked away his emotions temporarily, until he could go to Greece with Eric, and work out his traumas and pains by the oceans and wonderful Greek life style. For three years.

"I wonder…" He his knees turned in, "…how he'll react when he finds out…"

* * *

**What, you thought Stan was gonna be gone forever? XD Nope! Much more Stanley Marsh to come too! **


	33. Landmines

"Hey, Kenny?"

"Yeah?"

"Where do you go when you've run out of places to go for advice?"

The blonde was fiddling on a Gameboy next to Stan on his couch, watching some stoner movie that Stan couldn't stand. Kenny shrugged,

"I dunno. Where have you gone?"

"I asked my sister, my mom, Father Maxi…but I feel like there's no one else to go to,"

"Well, fuck all that. Girls are fucking useless when it comes to advice, trust me. They're way more emotional and stuff when it comes to…stuff and stuff. Whatever, anyway, you never go to the Church for advice, you dumb fuck, the Church forbids anything that feels good, so I highly doubt you're gonna hear what you wanna hear if you go there,"

Stan looked down at his feet wondering, was that what he wanted? He just wanted to hear something that would make him feel better? Were they two different realities? Was one answer the real answer, a painful existence without Kyle forever? And was the other answer, just what he'd want to hear?

"Who's the strongest person you know?"

"Why does it matter?" Stan cocked a brow, crestfallen, turning towards Kenny.

He hissed and made a defeated expression, "Shit—lost the battle," He put the toy down and looked at Stan, "Just tell me,"

"I guess…Kyle,"

Kenny rolled his eyes as if he had heard this name too many times, "Alright, so Kyle goes to Mrs. Barnes for advice whenever he needs it. If he's the person you admire most, I figure you should go to her,"

Stan hummed in agreement, "That makes a lot of sense," He smiled humbly, "Thanks, Kenny,"

"Yeah, yeah,"

* * *

Kenny was pacing around his room, smoking his fifth cigarette within the hour, praying for a phone call from Wendy, hopefully with news he wanted to hear. He had sent Stan over her house after the movie in hopes of them taking it to 'the next step'; as Wendy was an expert in talking a man into that situation, he hadn't doubted her. However, she was supposed to call afterward, and he hadn't gotten word from her yet. This was a vital part of his big plan, and if it didn't go through, he wouldn't know what to do. His cell-phone rang and he quickly snapped it open,

"Hello??"

"A-are you okay?"

He slowed his pacing, putting out his cigarette by his bedside table. This wasn't the girl he was hoping to hear from, but there were two people in the world that gave him a sense of innocence, and she was one of them.

"Hey there, Bebe. I'm fine. Are you okay? Why are you calling at an hour this late?"

"I just…I really need to see you, Kenny…could you meet me somewhere?"

He finally heard the desperation in her voice. It was scratchy. She was crying. Bebe Stevens, one of the most beautiful, courageous and wonderful people in his life was somewhere out there in the snow, crying. He panicked a little, grabbing his jacket,

"Yeah, anywhere, where are you? Are you alone? How long have you been out there? What's going on?"

"I-I'm alone, I'm at the elementary school. I…I don't know how long it's been, I just need to see you, can you come?"

She was growing more impatient, more anxious, more upset. Kenny ran out of his room and out the front door, replying,

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming, you in the front or the back?"

"In the back, by the parking lot,"

"I'm gonna be there in five minutes, Bebe, okay? Do you want me to stay on the phone with you until we meet up or—"

She hung up.

"Shit," Kenny said under his breath as he shut his phone and ran down the block.

He wouldn't take offense to something like that from Bebe; he knew she was probably in a panic and couldn't bear to hear his voice and know he was still out of reach. As he ran and the cold air swept through his thin, blonde hair and his huffing turned to fog before him and whipped, turning down either side of his face, he wondered would could be wrong. Bebe Stevens was a good friend of his. Someone he kept a secret from the rest of the world. Why? Because in all the evil that had corrupted Kenny, after all the drugs, alcohol and sex, Bebe Stevens forgave him. She expected more from him; something no one else did. And she respected him. Something no one had ever done before. She was a gentle and broken soul and he would do anything to help her. To protect her. Protect her from evils like Wendy, evils like pills and pot and beer and tequila. He made a sharp turn, nearly falling on ice by the gutter. He ran into the back of the school and saw Bebe, holding her arms and shivering in the snowstorm. He ran over to her, embracing her tightly and she sobbed into his chest,

"Don't cry out here, Bebe, you'll get a cold. What's wrong? Is it your dad again?"

She cried harder and that was answer enough. He could feel how wet the snow had made her sweater and so he removed his hoodie from over his head and pulled away from her to clothe her. He touched at her hair and wiped away her tears, smiling with a tilt of his head,

"Bebe, can you tell me what happened? Did he touch you? Your mother? Tell me what happened,"

"You got here so fast," She said through tears.

"Of course, Bebe…come on, let's get somewhere to get you warm,"

He escorted her with a protective arm around her to the closest 7-11, bought her a scorching mug of hot chocolate and a coffee for himself and shared a Halloween-sized bag of sour patch kids with her. He knew full well by then that Bebe Stevens didn't like to ever discuss what made her cry so furiously. She would never reveal what tore her heart into shreds, but if she didn't want to say anything, Kenny didn't mind wondering.

"Why don't you show yourself like this to everyone else, Kenny?"

"What?"

She sipped at her steaming chocolate, took down a handful of candy, then looked at him again. The two of them were sitting on the concrete outside 7-11, her knees were drawn up inside Kenny's oversized hoodie and a cigarette, sugar and hot coffee was enough to keep him warm.

"You're so good to me…but this whole plan with Wendy and Cartman and Kyle and Stan…don't you think it's a bit cruel, Kenny?"

He frowned, "I know, I know, Bebe…I do, I really do…but it's the only way to finally get him to see me,"

"I'm sure if you just told him your feelings, he'd be open to you,"

"I wish I were that sure," He looked at her and being the controller of the bag of candy, he shifted it towards her in an offering gesture and she gladly took another handful, "Do you hate me?"

She shook her head negatively, "I could never hate you,"

"You say that now. It's only a matter of time, though, Bebe. I always screw it up,"

"Kenny, if you just showed other people how sensitive and kind you are, I know things would be differe—"

"No, never," He shook his head, "You're the only one, Bebe…you and you-know-who…you're the only two I know would accept me for who I really am…everyone else just…" He sighed, "They just wouldn't understand,"

"Do what's right for you, Kenny…just know I'll always be here. No matter how much you push me away,"

They went on to talk about her impending birthday, the mysterious absence of Mrs. Barnes, Bebe praised Kyle's hard work shortly and conversation moved on to discuss the beauty of sunrises as they witnessed it and the dirtiness of the public buses as they took one home. Kenny attempted to ask her one more time if her father had laid a hand on her with awful intent, but she skewed from that again and instead told him how she had been eating raspberry yogurt every day for lunch since she was eleven. He gave up and dropped her home. On his walk home he lit another cigarette and his cell-phone rang again. However, again, it was not the person he thought it was.

"Hey,"

"Hey. You heard about Kyle?"

"That he got kicked out?"

"…you know this is all your doing, Kenny,"

"Yes, I'm well aware. You know, I'm flattered that you called me,"

He could almost see Eric rolling his eyes in disgust, "Shut up, Kenny. I want to know what you're up to,"

"You should never read the last page of a book until you've finished the rest. You'll see everything when it's time, Eric,"

"Just so you know, I got another drunken text message from you yesterday,"

Kenny smirked, blew out a stream of grey and inquired, "Yeah? What did this one say?"

"You punched a hole in Wendy's bedroom wall because you got in a dance competition with her dog and you were so convinced that you had lost, you, in anger, apparently, seized into dancing way too hard, fell over and bashed your head into her wall. I only told you this because God forbid you're walking around half-concussed without treatment,"

"Oh, that almost sounded like you were worried about me,"

"Don't flatter yourself so much,"

There was a sharp high-pitched beep and he announced, "I've got an important call on the other line. I'm very sorry to end this conversation, though,"

"Just hang up, you fuck,"

Kenny smiled and pressed the flash button so he could hear Wendy's voice.

"Did it go through? Is everything—"

"He left,"

"…he what?"

"He left, you idiot, he fucking left,"

"What do you mean he left!? Wendy, I left you in charge of this! How could he just walk out?! How did you let him just walk out!?"

"He didn't want to, Kenny, I mean, at first he wanted to, but it was like back when we were kids; he got nauseous and told me he needed time away from me,"

"What the fuck?!"

"I know! I know! I don't know what the fuck happened! I tried stopping him, but fuck, Kenny, he's been on the football team for like three fucking years, I'm not really a challenge to get through!"

"Fuck," He ran a hand through his hair, "Fuck,"

"…I just heard a car pass. Are you out?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm out,"

"Where?"

"I'm headed home now,"

"…where were you? And with who at this time of night?"

"Fuck you, that's who I was with, Wendy, don't try to distract me from you fucking all my shit up,"

There was a wall of bitterness between them. It had been there as long as either of them could remember. That was really due to Kenny, as his behavior towards anyone but Bebe implied that he was a heartless alcoholic-in-the-making. He rubbed the space between his eyes, closing them shut and grinding his teeth.

"_Why don't you show yourself like this to everyone else, Kenny?"_

"…sorry, Wendy, i-it's not…it's not your fault, I know…I know it's not your fault, sorry, I'm just aggravated,"

She stood in her room in utter shock, "…uhm…yeah, it's okay…"

"Do you…" He dropped his arm by his side and kept walking towards his house, "…uh, did he say where he was headed?"

"No, he just stormed out,"

"Alright…well, sorry about this, Wendy…"

"…yeah…"

"And I was with…"

"…you were with who?"

He swallowed, trying to predict her reaction, but he came up empty-handed.

"Bebe. She hasn't been okay. I was the only person she could call, so…I met her to get her cocoa and candy to make her feel better…I just dropped her home,"

There was silence on the other line for a long moment.

"How long have you been this close with her?"

"…since middle school,"

"Are you guys…"

He knew what she was trying to insinuate and he shook his head although he knew she couldn't see it,

"No, we're not like that. She's just my friend,"

There was another silence and Kenny couldn't think of what Wendy's face looked like or what she was thinking and so he told her he had to go and hung up quickly. Being honest and showing you have a heart is dangerous, and Kenny knew that. Because if you show you've got one, there's a grand risk of it being broken. Wherever there's gold, there's a gold digger. Every smile from Kyle Broflovski was a secret landmine, every friendly glance from Stan was that from a gravedigger. The only one who had defenses as high as him was Eric Cartman and Wendy Testaburger. No one could be let in, no one could see the heat and turmoil inside. Thoughts battle words over deeds, all shut behind a smiling face. An inner war with such casualties. Secrets like a beast drowning every word into meaninglessness and every acquaintance only that. There were few things that ever made Kenny consider changing his ways. Bebe Stevens was one of them. Bebe Stevens, the last thread of hope, the only sign of divine intervention, the final leaf on a winter-abused tree. Someone terrifically abused, someone who would never abuse. He wondered shortly if it took a terrible parenting to create a wonderful child. He dismissed that idea when he took into account his own childhood and thought nothing good of himself.

By the time he got home, he was so tired and strung so tightly, he took Tylenol PM and let it calm him down and beckon him to sleep.


	34. The World of Paradoxes

"You're always saying that Brandon fell out of love with you, but…doesn't that mean it was bound to happen? Doesn't that mean it was the natural course? That he wasn't meant to stay forever and that although what you guys had was good, it wasn't something that would be forever?"

She was lying on her bed with Kyle, staring at her high-ceiling and chandelier, the bed so large it could have fit five more people. In jeans, her hair in a messy ponytail and a college t-shirt on, he realized how young she still was. She sighed, tucking her arms under her head,

"Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings,"

"That…" He trailed off.

What? Was untrue? Kyle knew first hand that that was exactly what killed anything pure and kind. Lying, hiding, secrets and betrayals.

"You should read more poetry, Kyle, that's where you learn the most about life. Life, raw life, is all about feeding your soul by reading someone else's, and poetry is just that; skinning all the coarseness from your heart and peeling it away to reveal who you really are and what you really want and what you really think. That's how you learn about living and loving,"

"You know, you talk like an adult a lot, Bernadette, but you look too young for words like that,"

"Age does not protect you from love, but love to an extent, protects you from age," She smiled.

Kyle felt his lips tug back into a humble smile as well and he closed his eyes, appreciating the smell of her neat and crème-color schemed room. He rolled onto his side, facing her,

"I still love him. What do I do now?"

She turned her head to face him and stared at him strangely.

"…you really are actually in love with him, aren't you?"

He lowered his eyes, looking away, his long, tangerine lashes clipping each other by the corners of his eyes as they narrowed.

"I am. I don't feel lesser than him, I don't think anything ill of him…I mean, I'm not 'not' disappointed in how he's been acting, but that's not it…just because I don't like the choices he's made, doesn't mean I don't…I can't explain it. I can't explain any of it. Everything he's ever done until now was for me, and everything I've ever done until now was for him and…we never spent an entire day apart and…he always accepted me even though I totally cramped any style we had, or rather, he had…and I remember all the stupid little things he'd say and do that made me all squirmy and my stomach and chest and…ugh, it's just been…it's just been so empty without him. I mean, Eric has been wonderful, but you're the one that taught me that the one I love will be my complete opposite. Irresponsible, inconsiderate, dim-witted, popular and social…and somehow, we never get sick of each other,"

"Think of some poetry," She replied simply.

He didn't think for long, "Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking. It is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails…"

"What's that from?"

"The Bible. I thought you'd know that one," He smirked half-heartedly.

"Never been a religious woman," She shrugged, "Look, Kyle, there's a fairly simple science to love,"

"Science?"

"Immature love follows the principle that 'I love because I am loved', and mature love follows the principle 'I am loved because I love'. Immature love says 'I love you because I need you', and mature love says, 'I need you _because _I love you',"

They stared at each other for a few quiet moments until she asked, "So, which is it?"

"I need him,"

"So, you love him?"

"_Because_ I love him," He corrected.

She smiled again and he was glad to see it; he found that the less Brandon showed his face and the more she talked about it and the more poetry they traded and the more she rested, the better she became. The healthier she looked, sounded and acted. Her youth came back to her, in bits and pieces, but it was coming back to her and reminding her that she was beautiful and wonderful and that she had much too much to look forward to.

"So, why not go and get him?"

"Easier said than done,"

"Hmm," She agreed, "Do you forgive him?"

"There's nothing to forgive. His faults make him who he is, and I love him for all that he is and isn't. And even though he tried to fill in the holes he began to miss, I love him for what he failed to be. I think if he just learned to live with what he is, things would go back to normal. He never used to care about what Wendy thought because he thought she didn't care about him anymore. The moment she shows an inkling of interest in him, he drops everything just to see if she's the one that can complete him. He's so hungry for love and attention, but I don't think it can make him the kind of happy he wants to be,"

"What kind of happy is that?"

He scoffed, "Humankind is a fickle one. My skin is hot, but my touch is cold, and adults are more children than children are. They mistrust so much and also trust far more than they should. They're innocent yet spoiled…" He trailed off shortly, "We always want what we can't have, we all want to die, but we're terrified of the unknown. We only need something when it's not there and we only admit we love someone when they're not there to hear it. Hands are lethal, mind is torture, hearts are bursting with love and broken from it all. We hurt just to know that we can. We're all masochists in a way. We think of the times we were happy when we're most downtrodden and we think of the saddest times when we're in too much happiness, because God forbid we have a second to appreciate our spirits lifting and falling at the same time and the miracle of our existence. Humans are only happy when they're struggling, otherwise what've they got to strive or hope for? Tomorrow is all about the struggle, about the thrill and the pain because it reminds us how good we had it yesterday and how good it can be tomorrow. It's how we are, and if ever I've known someone that is the epitome of paradoxes and twisted logic, the epitome of all mankind, it would be Stanley Marsh,"

She remained speechless.

"He's strong, but would never use that strength to hurt someone. He's suave and socially intelligent, much more so than me, but he can't tell that I'm in love with him. And if he did, he'd run, because it's easier to hide from the things that scare you than to actually face them. I'm unique to him, too much but too little, too different and all too much the same. He wants more of me, but can hardly stand a moment more of being with me. He's looking for stability in a world that offers anything but. And in all the bliss of his turmoil, he doesn't realize it. And I love him for that too, I suppose,"

"Now, that's poetry,"

He chuckled; after talking his face blue, all she has to offer are those three words. But three words meant a lot. In all his life, he had to admit that the most meaningful things were the smallest.

"I love you,"

"I hate you,"

"Talk to me,"

"I miss you,"

"I want you,"

"I need you,"

"Trust in me,"

"Stay with me,"

"Leave me alone,"

Always, never, forever and ending; far, near, beauty, ugly, harsh, soft, big, small, wonderful and terrible. All the small words, in the end, were the ones that mattered most. He closed his eyes, sighing,

"You think he misses me?"

"I know he does, Kyle,"

"How?" He quirked a brow, "How do you know that?"

"Because if I follow your logic, that humans only act in hopes of preserving their pain, then what would be most painful is that he would miss everything he pushed away. It makes most sense, I'd think,"

"And still makes no sense at all,"

"So are the paradoxes of mankind, Kyle. You knew that the one thing in the world that Stanley hates most is control, and so you knowingly took control of a great portion of his life; his school life. You wielded power you knew, subconsciously, would terrorize Stanley, because causing those you love pain gives you trouble and pain. You miss him, though, you love him and want to take his pain away. And a friend, a true friend, is someone who, upon seeing another friend in immense pain, would rather be the one experiencing the pain, than to have to watch their friend suffer. Humans are all weak, masochists, like you said, and our hearts pass each other with blades, wounding one another, and you can make all the promises you want and use pretty words that make someone's heart thump, but the messy truth is, you want to be in the pain that you cause him, and it's the same for him, because that is human nature,"

He blinked, his stomach dropping in realization.

"Am I so easy to read?"

"Only to me," She smiled, "Only because you're a teacher's pet,"


	35. Ensnared By Darkness & Encaged By Fate

"Bebe,"

She turned to her bedroom door, in only light blue underwear, knee-high stripped socks and Kenny's orange pullover. Her fingers curled over the ends of the baggy sleeves, it was semi-tattered and very large on her, but she cherished the stolen gift. She considered whatever Kenny would forget in her possession an indirect gift. It made her feel less guilty about wanting to keep it.

"What do you want?"

"Where the fuck have you been?"

She looked away, twiddling with the hem of the sweater, "I needed to see my friend. I was literally ten minutes from the house, by the school,"

"Look, you dumb shit, next time you decide you're leaving the Goddamn house, you tell your mother. She nearly had a heart attack, and you know I don't give a shit where you go or when, but she does,"

At least he still cared about her mother to some degree.

"That's wonderful, Charlie, now if you don't mind, I'd like you to close my door and go back to your own room without too much noise,"

Normally she'd never speak to her father this way, but whenever she got to see Kenny, she would find that he revived any lost bravery.

"Don't talk to me like that, you little shit. We'll talk about this in the morning, when you're stuck here, grounded,"

"That'll be good timing, considering you're stuck here, plastered by noon, right? Are you sure you'll remember what you wanted to ground me for by morning?"

He stormed in and she crossed her forearms over her head defensively. He lowered his fist and walked out, slamming the door behind him. She was just glad he was gone. She held herself in a self-embrace and pulled the sweater tighter around her, taking in the scent of Kenny, almost feeling him inside the oversized top with her. She crawled onto her bed and tugged her flowing curls into a messy bun, flipping onto her back, closing her eyes and muttering,

"If you'd just realize I'm over her…if you'd just forget him…maybe we could…"

There was no point in finishing that request that was only between her and God. A confession made a thousand times, only spoken aloud, alone, in the privacy of her bedroom or her wildest daydreams. He didn't love her and that was how it was supposed to be. Always unrequited, always alone and strangely despondent, independent and aching. It was her existence, her essence and she accepted it with a spike in her heart, a churn of her stomach and a swallow of her pride. Something she regularly choked on.

* * *

Brandon was standing by the counter, washing dishes to prepare for a salad that Staci was intent on making for him. He didn't have the heart to tell her that he thought nothing in the food pyramid more bland and unpleasant than salad. He wanted to use that as part of his argument for leaving her. Which, by itself, sounds a little ridiculous. Why would a man leave his fresh-out-of-college, limber, devoted secretary-girlfriend because she wanted to make him salad? Well, the simple answer was that Bernadette would have known that he didn't like salad, and would have made him steak. Not only would she have made him steak, and she would have forced him to help. He chuckled to himself quietly, but that was just her nature; she would never be taken advantage of and she hated fitting gender-based stereotypes. He tried to think back to the first time he was enticed by Staci. He tried to think of why he gave in so easily, tried to remember what was going through his mind. Why didn't he think it would hurt Bernadette? Why had he ever doubted her love for him? Was he attention-hungry? Perhaps he was jealous of her students, spending all day with her and occupying all of her night hours with paperwork, tests and essays.

That, he told himself, was very immature. But not unlike him. He wanted to leave Staci's house, even if he had nowhere else to go. She'd probably cry and cling; she tended to be a bit emotional. Nothing like Bernadette. When he was leaving her, the worst she showed him was tossing a cup of coffee down a flight of stairs. Staci was still a girl, a child. Bernadette was a woman. His woman. He couldn't bear the thought of giving her up to any man. He scowled as he imagined Kyle Broflovski; having only seen him in a yearbook. He was the reason she stayed late at the school, he was the reason she was unaware that Brandon had been drifting away. What scared him and hurt him more, though, was the thought of them being alone together at the end of the school day. For far longer than he pleased, and she'd come back saying their conversations were confidential and it wouldn't be fair of her to 'gossip' about him. He'd die before he'd accuse her of having an affair, especially with a student. However, he didn't really believe that insecurity, rightfully so, but he found that part out too late. He acted out in irrational fear and hurt her just to see if he could.

The third part of his argument was that, frankly, he felt like being alone. If he couldn't be with Bernadette, then he wanted no one else and any attempt to fill the crack in his heart would be futile and only cause him more pain. She only meant well, really, he knew that and she adored him and admired him and showered him in affection. It wasn't what he wanted, though. He wanted Bernadette's cold shoulder, he wanted her negative attitude, he wanted her to insult his taste in music and force him to go to Borders Bookstore with her every Friday. He'd waste so much money on her there. Staci liked clothes, though, and she was smart, yes, but not as smart as Bernadette. He found that he was terrified of people finding out at work, and he was mortified to find that when they weren't having sex that conversation just died into awkward silence. His eyes were heavy and he very slowly put the plate down into sink, announcing that he felt tired and was going to rest in her room. She told him she'd call him down to the kitchen whenever the meal was ready and he muttered an agreement to that reasoning. He walked into her room, down the hall from the kitchen and laid down on the bed, newly broken-in by him, but still unfamiliar to his lazy muscles and exhausted spirit.

He closed his eyes and thought back to his first kiss with Bernadette.

He was, what? Fifteen? Sixteen? He couldn't remember. He stayed home because of an early-morning migraine and was home alone all that day. He was consumed by thoughts of his grade-school rival, Bernadette Roman. He thought of her in class and how perfect she looked from across the room. The way the light from the windows in first period, while the sun was still just rising in the winter terms, would frost her face in gold and white and her perfect skin would shimmer and twinkle. The way she rolled her gym shorts tight enough that he could see the outline of her underwear and how lean and carved her torso was from sports. She was a poet too, and her English projects would always one-up his. She aggravated him with a constant cold shoulder, but occasionally he would catch her in a strange stare and she would quickly look away, or she would linger near his desk before class began. Her fingers, beautiful, feminine fingers would trace along his desk, her eyes low and body tilted and she would read whatever was lying on the surface. He would walk in, every day, and she'd glance at him and she'd almost slither back to her own seat, lucid and terrific in grace and transition. He never asked her about it, and she never told him what purpose it served. He was lying in his bedroom, in his air-conditioning; summer break was approaching and the weather was torturing him with headaches and allergies. In the chill air of his room, though, he was comfortable and could think of Bernadette freely, without the questioning stares of his friends or her heavy presence distracting him from logical thought.

He sighed as he rolled onto his back, his hands folded over his athletic chest. He watched the anxious rising of his chest; he was so wound up, his stress, sexual frustrations and work-load overwhelming him. He would worry, and as most adolescent boys, when they were surrounded with disquiet or boredom, in turn, he would remake an artificial fantasy. He slipped his arm under his bed, no dirty magazines, only pictures of Bernadette Roman kept from over their years at school and the movie in his mind. He took them out and sat up over them, closing his eyes and allowing his hand to travel to where it was, probably, most familiar with on his entire anatomy. It wasn't long before the rushes wrapped up every one of his muscles, and his eyes rolled back in ecstasy and he scrambled for tissues by his bedside table. He would rest and repeat that ceremony two more times, two different fantasies playing out in his private theater; her satin skin slick, her school uniform skirt hitched up higher and higher as his hands slid up. Their lips would mold together, and her smooth voice would moan his name and that's all it ever took to bring him over the edge.

He was beaded with sweat and his bed had tissues scattered along the blanket with pictures of his centerfold angel splayed across. Huffing, tired and content, he walked out and into the shower. When he came back, she was standing in the doorway and his secrets were revealed. It came as such a shock, when she dropped the homework papers she'd come to drop off and ran out, he stayed still for a few moments. He ran off after her, the only thing he could think to do, and kept calling her name, trying to get her to stop. She did, eventually, in the middle of the street outside his house. She turned around to face him, and she was flustered and looking at him in a way she never had before. There was a gleam in her eye, that until then, he had never known. He loved it.

"That was humiliating,"

"I'm sorry," He told her. He didn't know why; it was in a boy's nature after all—he had no reason to apologize for wanting to masturbate.

Somehow it only made sense, though.

"It's okay," She replied, "Is it all that matters, though?"

"Is all …what?"

"I guess not, considering you ran out here half-naked to get me. Do you like me, Brandon?"

"That'd be…an…understatement,"

She smiled humbly, almost cutely; he was liking her more and more with each passing second.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Brandon,"

As she went to turn away, he reached out and grabbed her forearm, forcing her to turn around; as entranced as he was by her, he was still the aggressive type and wasn't one to be very formal or polite or gentle with girls. He twisted her and very close to her pretty face, he nearly shouted,

"W-wait! What does that mean?"

She smiled, simply, and leaned in to kiss him. She wrapped her arms around his wet neck and brushed her hands through his dark hair; the kiss was not his dream's, though. It was kind of messy and desperate and starved. When she snapped away from him, he wanted nothing more than to have her so close again, but she told him again,

"Our secret. I'll see you tomorrow, Brandon,"

She got on her bike that was parked by the curb and he got a single glance at the purple, plaid panties under her school skirt as she rode off. He always had a drive for her, but her kiss sealed the deal, and he'd want no other kiss for all his life.

A beautiful memory, a silly one and embarrassing one, but those were the types one remembered. He sighed and rolled onto his back, his fingers twining over his chest; before he could think about anything else, Staci's voice rang out from the kitchen to call him down. He returned the call and reluctantly shoved himself off her bed; there would be no high school angel waiting for him in the kitchen, no paralyzing kiss, no pretty fingers or secrets to keep. That life was far, far away from his now. He knew he deserved it, and so ate in silence.

* * *

**I gave Brandon some air-time cause I don't want everyone hating on him XD**

**I know he's been stupid, but I've been getting PMs about people hating him! XD I want you guys to at least TRY to like him! XP**


	36. Parting Is Such Bitter Sorrow

Bernadette was walking around her living-room with a mug of tea, hoping to watch a documentary she had taped earlier that week on the beginning of life on Earth; she inwardly praised the History Channel for teaching her so much, but cursed it for pricing its DVDs so highly. The phone rang and so she set her mug down on the center table and picked up the phone from the table beside the arm of the couch. Seeing as the only people she heard from were Professor Avinash or Kyle Broflovski, she didn't specify her voice to fit either one because she wasn't up for a guessing game.

"Hello?"

"Bernadette,"

"…now you're calling here? Will I have to get a restraining order on you?"

"I want to talk. Staci is out, and I want to see you. Can I meet you for some coffee or something?"

"I have no idea what the hell you think you're doing by this, but no, absolutely not. I'm not playing hide and seek with you and Staci, and you're really out of your mind if you think I'd even tolerate this sort of—"

"Why won't you see me? Why won't you hear me out?"

"Because I'm done, Brandon. I'm done with this conversation, I fought you for too long. You did and said things I won't be able to forgive and forget and I assumed that the same went for you. You know, Kyle Broflovski told me something interesting just last week—that because I refer to your affair as you 'falling out of love', he asked me if I thought it was an inevitability. And you know, I've got answers for everything and I never admit I'm wrong or surprised, even when I'm caught red-handed, but to be honest, I didn't know how to answer at first. Because I never thought I'd live a day without you until just a few months ago. Now look at us. Over the past few months, I've changed and you've changed and we're on different schedules in different lives in different worlds, and I'm not about to shove our galaxies together again. I just don't have it in me,"

She heard him sigh and knew he was rubbing the middle of his nose, between his eyes; it was a habit he had when he was overwhelmed with sadness or anxiety. She first took note of that during Finals week in their sophomore year of high school.

"I never knew it'd get this bad. I never knew it'd take such a toll on you,"

"Guess that shows how well you know me. Anyway, Mr. Barnes, as elated that I am that you graced me with a phone call to remind me that I'm still alone and angry, I'll have to leave,"

"Bernadette, don't be like this, just talk to me,"

"What do you want me to say?"

There was a long silence. She raked a hand through her hair, took three of her Lexapro and two of her Clonazepam, she sipped at her poisoned tea to swallow them all in one gulp and listened intently to the familiar breathing on the other line. The deadly mix was washing her in a lucid calm she had grown accustomed to.

"Well?"

"…I want you to tell me you love me,"

"You know I can't,"

"But you want to,"

"I can't,"

"If you want it, then you can,"

Silence.

"Fine," She surrendered almost playfully, "I love you. I still love you. I love you as surely and strongly and ferociously as the sun rises and blazes, I love you as brightly as the moon shines and the stars burn, I love you as undyingly as the romantic dance our planet orbits in. I love you, after all. After all the pain and arguments and lies, I love you still. I love you,"

She could tell he was shocked, his expression was leaking through the speakers of her phone.

"Bernadette, I—"

"No. You said you wanted me to say I love you, not the other way around,"

"What?"

"I don't want to hear any words you used with Staci,"

"…Bernadette—"

"No. I will not be your second choice, I will not be some vacant lot for recycled, worthless, empty words. I'm not your test subject, I'm not your eye-witness, I'm not your defendant. I was your wife, I was your girlfriend, I was your friend and you were my life. Somewhere along the line, _you_ decided it wasn't enough. I don't want to hear anything more about how you feel about me, because no matter how much you say it, in what language or for how long, I will never believe a single word you say again,"

Another heavy quiet.

"Can I go now?"

"I miss you,"

"I bet you do. Go cuddle with Staci, it'll make you feel at home,"

"You know I only feel at home with you. You're my everything,"

"Don't give me that crap. I told you I didn't want to hear it. I'm hanging up now,"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, stay on,"

"Alright. Fine. I'll give you five more minutes of my life, but you will not call here again after these five minutes,"

"…fine. Fine, I won't call again,"

"Good. So, for five minutes, what do you want me to say?"

"…read any good poetry lately?"

She knew he was giving this to her; he hated poetry. Anything 'mushy' or revealing or related at all to literature disgusted him because of her. He used to hate how she'd spew memorized poetry all the time in common conversation. She walked her feminine fingers down her long legs as she recited,

"Three passions have governed my life; the longings for love, the search for knowledge,  
and unbearable pity for the suffering of humankind. Love brings ecstasy and relieves loneliness.  
In the union of love I have seen in a mystic miniature the prefiguring vision of the heavens that saints and poets have imagined. With equal passion I have sought knowledge. I have wished to understand the hearts of people. I have wished to know why the stars shine. Love and knowledge led upwards to the heavens, but always pity brought me back to earth; cries of pain reverberated in my heart, of children in famine, of victims tortured and of old people left helpless. I long to alleviate the evil, but I cannot, and I too suffer. This has been my life; I found it worth living,"

"By who?"

"Bertrand Russel," She answered.

"Beautiful,"

"I know that already,"

"It's more relevant to me, I like it,"

"If you took time out of your precious life to read any poetry I wrote or chose precisely for you, you would've been taken by poetry much earlier. But you were too busy fucking around at the office to notice, so I made the best of all the ugly, Brandon, and read the poetry to you when you couldn't hear it. I think that way it meant more,"

"What are you talking about?"

"Nothing. It's nothing of consequence to you anymore,"

"Can I tell you how I feel about you?"

"No,"

"Why not?"

"You know why,"

"But…" He trailed off, sighing childishly.

"You've got two more minutes with me on the phone, are you really going to waste it on pointless, circling questions like that?"

"No, no, I'm not. Bernadette, I need to know, why you married me,"

"What?"

"Why did you marry me, Bernadette?"

"_So, what? You married me because it was convenient for you?"_

She sipped at her intoxicated tea, amazed that he still didn't believe her.

"Bernadette?"

"Yeah, gimme a minute to answer, I just need a moment to comprehend how I spent every fiber of my being in every second and every breath trying to convince you with all that I was, am and will be that I loved you more than anything else, and how it still meant nothing to you,"

"…you don't have those extra moments to waste on circling questions like that,"

She chuckled bitterly, "You're right. Well, Brandon, I know this'll come as a shocker, but I married you because I am madly in love with you. You're the most annoying person in the world, you hover too much and when I tell you that, you pull away too far. You're stupid for such a smart guy, you're a show-off, and worst of all, you're completely blind to my feelings. But I loved you for all of it. I still love you for it. Guess that makes me a loser too,"

"Bernadette, you need to know, I—"

"It's been five minutes. I'm hanging up now,"

"One more time,"

"…one more time, what?"

"Say it one more time,"

"…I love you,"

"I—"

She hung up.


	37. Reality Is Eroding & Dreams Fade Away

He was going to say he loved her too. He still loved her. He always would, he couldn't stop. Not now. Not ever. But she couldn't bear to hear it. She took two more pills from both bottles and drank more tea and before she was able to press 'play' for her documentary to begin, her doorbell rang. She sighed, praying that it wouldn't be Brandon, but secretly also praying that it was. She was shocked to find a semi-stranger there.

"Mrs. Barnes?"

"Uh…yeah. How did you get my address?"

"Kenny gave it to me. I didn't ask him how he had it. Can I come in?"

"…yeah,"

She let Stanley walk in and closed the door behind him. Her head was beginning to feel strangely light. He hung his coat up on the rack by the door and sat in the living room with her. He sat across from her on the opposite couch, in silence for a long while until she asked him,

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay, I'm just…can we just talk first? I'm not used to…coming to people like this…I just…can we just talk normally first?"

She nodded, "Alright. How's school been?"

"Awful. I was under the impression that when you're popular everyone likes you, but, as it turns out, you get popular by dicking around the whole school and not doing anything actually admirable and then everyone talks about you behind your back,"

"Who's been talking about you behind your back?"

"Ugh, I dunno, everyone…Wendy's sleeping with other guys and I'm just the guy paying for her shopping expenses and Kenny's telling everyone I'm a light-weight and Danielle is spreading rumors that I lost my virginity in elementary school; I mean, for Pete's Sake, I couldn't even come when I was in elementary! I just…it's just been bad. If I'm not smoking with them during lunch or one of my classes they talk me out of going to, I just don't like them…"

"I see. I heard you've been quite trouble-maker for Mr. Broflovski,"

"He talks about me to you?"

She smiled slyly; as Kyle Broflovski's friend, she wanted to rip Stanley Marsh a new asshole. As someone who considered herself one of Kyle Broflovski's guardians, she wanted to rip Stanley Marsh a new asshole. As Stanley Marsh's teacher, though, she couldn't and wouldn't. She sat back, crossing her legs slowly,

"Yeah, he talks about your hissy-fits in the middle of class, on the special days you decide to grace his classroom with your presence,"

Stan looked away, shamefully, "I know I've been a dick…the worst part of it all, is that…I'm not sure why I did it,"

She blinked curiously…

_He's looking for stability in a world that offers anything but. And in all the bliss of his turmoil, he doesn't realize it._

"Not sure why you did what?"

Stan shrugged and ran a hand through his hair, shifting his eyes around the floor, "I don't know why I did all this…I don't know if…if I wanted time away from Kyle, I don't think I did…I don't know if I got scared about him being gay, I don't know if I was angry at him and didn't even realize it…I just don't know anymore…"

She closed her eyes and told herself,

_Kyle would want me to help him. Kyle would want me to be patient and nice. He's such a pushover._

"What are you doing here?" She finally asked.

He looked up at her from under his lashes and under the silky flip of his ebony hair and wore an expression that conveyed that he felt as if he was disclosing some deep, shameful secret,

"I need advice,"

She cocked a brow, "So, why don't you ask your mother or something?"

"I did and she couldn't help,"

"It's all about Kyle, then?"

He nodded, not entirely surprised that a brilliant woman like Bernadette would be able to deduct why he was there. Just like Kyle could do; she could read everything about him the moment he walked in the door. She probably knew why he was there from the second she saw him the doorway but gave him the comfort and time to admit it himself. Wendy, Kenny, Eric, Danielle, Michelle, Marissa, Father Maxi—no one else mattered the way Kyle did. Those people troubled him, of course, spreading rumors and distracting him and pressuring him into uncomfortable situations; they were a pain in the ass, of course. But none of them were as important as Kyle and it's all that mattered to him. Kyle was on his mind day in and day out and he knew he needed to talk about it. Not to his mother, not to his so-called friends, not to his sister, not to his priest, but rather…to his English teacher. The closest person to Kyle.

"Well, go on, tell me what's on your mind,"

Perhaps telling her how he felt would prove to make it easier when he had to face Kyle. Perhaps because they were personally so alike, Stan might find it so similar that it would feel like he practiced it.

"…I don't know what to do. You've probably heard everything from him by now…you know how I wronged him, but I don't know…I don't know how to make it up to him. I don't know how to get him to forgive me…I don't know how I stopped being me…"

"You started seeing Wendy, Stan, that's all. A different person, a different life, new default-friends, new experiences, new places, new faces…you just went a different route,"

"Different route?" He asked as if exasperated.

"It takes one little change, Stan, like just changing your social-circle to twist your whole life around. Kyle chose to stay with you rather than anyone else he could find, and for a while you reciprocated that, but in the end, you decided to stay with Wendy,"

"But…but I don't want to stay with Wendy!" He exclaimed, "I want to stay with Kyle! I do, I want to stay with him, I'm just…I'm just confused, I'm lost, I feel like I…I feel like I really lost where I belong, and now I can't find my way back cause I've never been this far away from home…" He breathed out heavily, a vague, impending sob sound, "…I've tried calling him, but he won't pick up for me. I called Eric's house after I found out he was staying there, but Eric picked up and told me to never call back there or he'd break the phone over my head, keep the earpiece on my shoulder and shove the speaker so far up my ass, I would listen to my small intestine producing shit as he ripped it out of me and stabbed me repeatedly. You can imagine the language he used was a even more colorful than that, but…in any case, I can't reach him, I can't face him…"

"If you can't even face him, then what do you think you're gonna do? It's no use if you don't even have the balls to own up to your mistakes. There's no use in thinking about it and beating yourself up over it if you don't have it in you to see him,"

"But I…even from far away, he changed me…"

"What do you mean far away?" She moved forward, taking her tea in her hands from the table and sipping at it as she awaited his answer.

He studied her motions as he responded, "I mean all this time he's been with other people and stuff…even though we've been away from each other, I feel like parts of him are showing up in me,"

"How so?"

"…I used to daydream about Wendy and stuff all the time, but…once we started getting intimate…I just felt sick, it felt weird and wrong and gross and…and every time I…you know…" He blushed, looking away again, "…_please_ myself, I always end up imaging him and I can't…I can't function anymore…everything's shutting down in anxiousness and depression and…I went to the Church for answers, to my sister, to my mother…but none of them were really clear. None of them told me what to do, how to fix it, or what to say. None of them know this much, but…I don't think I could bear to tell any of them about that part of me. Not yet. I could tell Kyle, but…he's different. He's a genius, and I figured if he's so smart, but he somehow needs help sometimes too, and he goes to you at those times, you're the most reliable person to go to at a time like this…so…I guess what I'm asking is…" He looked up to her again, "…what do I do?"

"That's a sketchy question, Stanley," She began, leaning back with her tea, "First of all, Kyle's under a lot of pressure, he's carried your dead weight around for a long time without complaint and he's done a lot of good without any regard or credit for longer than _I'm_ comfortable with. He still goes to work every day, even though he knows you have your weekly outbursts when you decide to show up for class and he knows he's being judged by everyone he meets or works with now. But he's learning to accept himself for all that he is and isn't, and learning to love himself for it all. Don't think that that excuses anything you did, though. He's awake to who he is and what he wants and that means more than you could ever understand,"

He nodded, staring at her with a heavy, azure gaze, studying her every feature in hopes of perhaps memorizing it. Maybe he planned on asking his "Inner-Bernadette" for advice later in his life and so he was concentrating so intently now. She shrugged it off and continued,

"That being said…there's really only way to fix this,"

"There is?"

"Do you love him?"

"_I want to be with you, always… I trust you, Stan. You know I do. I love you. I've always loved you, Stan. Don't you love me?"_

"_What are you talking about? I mean, sure, I love you, but not in a gay way, I love you like a friend. I love you how you think I love you, how you know I love you. It's different, I'm not…I'm confused,"_

Stan froze.

"I…I love him, but not in…"

Bernadette was looking at him strangely, wondering why he wasn't completing his thoughts.

_Not in a gay way…just a friend…just a friend that I sometimes have dirty thoughts about and look for excuses to touch and would kill and die for. Just a good, really good friend that I may have dry-humped because I was so overcome with lust the moment he let me kiss him…yeah…fuck. I love him…_

"…fuck…" His eyes widened.

"What?"

He looked to his side, as if he were completely alone in the room.

"…fuck…"

"What, already, what?" She barked.

Every smile, every brush of wind through his curly locks, his laugh, his freckles, his perfect teeth, his skinny-jeans, his hat, guitar hero, stupid cakes, tickling him in the snow, being tackled by him in the field, copying his Spanish homework, his tiny waist wearing green panties in front of stores at the mall, the way he would stay up at night just to comfort Stan…

All the stupid inside-jokes, ice-skating, learning that white, Jewish boys can dance after all, wrestling and throwing punches for just something to do, learning how to cook and proper etiquette by observing all of Kyle's movements that he could never seem to perfect to a T, finding his collection of every Star Trek episode hidden under his bed like shameful porno and resolving just to laugh at him, teaming up against Cartman, seeing Anchorman five times on the same day and making jokes about cross-dressing…

Seeing him in his mother's gown, finding out his cellphone ring-tone was Single Ladies and enjoying him imitate the music video's dance at a sleep over, watching him in the kitchen and finding that he was the perfect fit to Kyle's missing piece, wondering if Kyle was into someone like him, looking for reasons to reach out and touch him, talk to him, look at him, think of him, love him…

"I love him…I love him,"

She smiled, "That's all that matters to him. If you can tell him that, I'm sure he'd be glad to listen to anything you had to say or explain,"

"Y-you think? B-but, Wendy and Kenny, and—"

"You decide how to prioritize. For all I know, loving your best friend might not matter to you as much as social hierarchy. Being in love is like being a little kid. You've gotta go back to the basics, cause if you're little and you get lost you can only find your way home if you know who you are. That's when you can go to the closest police station, and tell them your name. They help you find your way home. In this case, you've finally found your name, Stan, and Kyle's that station and he'll help you onto a road on your own, or a road beside him. Once he knows who you are, who you have been and you want to be, it's all up to him what he wants to do,"

"Th-thank you, Mrs. Barnes,"

"Don't sweat it. Now, I don't mean to be rude, Marsh, but to be honest, I'm not feelin' so hot, so,"

He rose from his seat as she did and nodded enthusiastically,

"Yeah, yeah, of course, don't worry about it, thank you, thank you for everything,"

When she stood, the room fuzzed and blurred and spun for a moment, she reached out to grab his shoulder as they walked towards the door and he stopped. She was losing feeling in her feet and her head was watery and wavy; no other way to describe it.

"Are you okay?"

She tried to respond, but it felt like her throat was being closed off. Her chest was in excruciating pain; another heart failure. She looked up at him, dazed, confused…where was she? She looked around, she was on the floor, everything was so slow and dull and dizzying. She was home, this was her home. She blinked and it felt like it took an eternity. She looked up, her hot chest making a heated imprint on the floor and there was a pixilated figure standing there. Tall, lean, who was that? What were they doing in her home? They were saying something. It sounded like an animal, a dog or the sounds Charlie Brown's parents would make when they spoke. What was this person saying? Dark hair. She saw dark hair. She smiled; it was Brandon. That's why he was there, they were married, of course, how could she be so foolish? Her hand rose up and touched at the blurry curve of Stan's face and her eyes began to close, his voice breathy but strangely Zen,

"Love is the only bow on life's dark cloud…it is the Morning and the Evening Star. It shines upon the cradle of the babe, and sheds its radiance upon the quiet tomb. It is the mother of art, inspirer of poet, patriot, and philosopher…"

"__________ Berna_______ay_____olice______ake_____ou____________pital,"

She turned her head against the cold floor again, it was so flushed that the tiles' freezing temperature came as a relief,

"It is the air and light of every heart, builder of every home, kindler of every fire on every hearth. It was the first to dream of immortality. It fills the world with melody, for music is the voice of love…"

"________, __ere is________ell me, I can________elp!"

Shouting, crying. Why was Brandon crying? Why was he shouting at her?

"…love is the magician, the enchanter, that changes worthless things to joy…and makes right royal kings and queens of common clay. It is the perfume of the wondrous flower…the heart and without that sacred passion, that divine swoon, we are less than beasts; but with it…earth is heaven and we…are gods,"

"___at's it! I'll ___ind it______y own!"

He got up, he was leaving. What was he looking for?

He was fumbling around all over the place. He saw the hook for the phone and saw it was empty. He was growing more and more anxious, and he, unknowingly passed over the phone that was stuck between the couch cushions Bernadette had dropped it in after speaking to her ex-husband. He was crying, he was huffing, he was so scared and horrified and lost; he didn't know how to get her help, he had walked there and he didn't have his cellphone with him—there was no way for him to contact help. There was no way to get her to her feet, much less get her to the hospital. He looked down at her and she smiled childishly, tears streaming down her face silently, her hair fanned out beneath her as she turned onto her back.

"Come back,"

She spoke. He ran over to her, kneeling by her side, holding her forearm furthest from him, stretching over her entire torso as to face her,

"Y-you spoke! Are you okay?"

She curved her brows. Had she not been speaking aloud all that time? Was he not listening? What had she even said?

"Can you hear me? Can you understand?"

She clearly didn't. She showed no signs of changing; something bad was happening, Stan could feel the impending disaster. She touched at his chest, closing her eyes,

"In the year of bated breath and lover's debt, there lived a man and his beautiful wife…and though they toiled in circular disintricacies and stayed the coming of any age time mustered, they loved each other dearly, to the threat of every deathbed…and beyond…to every…Brandon…"

"Mrs. Barnes, Bernadette, this is not Brandon, this is Stan, Stanley Marsh, can you understand me?"

"Brandon…" She caressed his cheek lovingly as tears fell over said digits from Stan's fearful eyes, "Brandon, I'm so glad you're back, I missed you…"

"Stanley! Stan, this is Stan! Stan Marsh! Please, understand me! Why can't you? What do I do?"

"Do? What you do?"

He gasped, "Y-yes! You heard me? You understand?"

"I understand, yes, of course I understand you…I never stopped loving you…I love you even now, here…I'm so glad you're here, Brandon…Brandon, tell me you love me still,"

Stan bent his head, tears falling from his lashes onto her blouse.

He gave up.

"…I love you, Bernadette,"

"More than anything?"

"More than anything,"

"That makes me…so happy," She smiled and seemed to drift off to sleep.

Her fingers limp and body numb, that evening heralded no whispers for she could barely breathe with so much pain twined like ivy about her tormented, sickly heart.

* * *

***runs away from angry mobs that actually enjoyed her OCs***

**OHAI**

**Uhm, yes, indeed, Bernadette did just die. More explanations to come about that, actually in the up-coming chapters. Sorry to end on such a sad note, but I'll be back with new chapters very soon! Thank you to all adds, favorites, fanarts and reviews so far, it's SO SO SO SO SO SO APPRECIATED**


	38. Souls for Gold

"By the time the police got there, and the ambulance…it was too late,"

His sister rubbed a consoling hand on his shoulder-blade, but he couldn't be bothered with it. He was in all ways numb and shell-shocked so seriously that he couldn't control his facial or immediate emotional responses to anything. He was horrified; a young, promising woman had just died in his very arms, under his watch and everyone was treating him as if they were resigning him to a terminal illness. He looked around from the couch, to the investigator there questioning him, only there to ask questions to determine if it had been suicide or accidental, or if he, in some twisted anger, came and drugged her. Not in his wildest dreams would Stan ever harm a fly, and somehow he was being suspected of murder. Police were swarming the house and touching at her belongings, reading, photographing and bagging her prescription pills and liquor and it made Stan feel sick. He didn't want them touching at her things, he didn't want them snooping through her house, he didn't want them tarnishing her home with their dirty fingerprints. She was a saint. And Stan turned to her when he had no one else, and she did not turn him away when she had every right to. She guided him and gave him a voice of reason to follow, like a miracle, only forty three minutes before her death.

Saint Bernadette.

It sounded nice. It sounded right.

He twitched away from his sister's hand and scared his seated mother out of her worn look of despair as he shot out of his seat. He looked at the detective and clutched his hands into fists,

"I can't stay any longer. I've told everyone here what happened over a million times, and I need to find Kyle,"

"Kyle?" One of the policemen asked, initiating three more stares, "Kyle Broflovski?"

"Yes, I need to find him, this is important,"

"The death of his English teacher is as well. Did he know her well?"

Frustration grew in his stomach like a pit of fire. He glowered at them, his eyes shining dangerously and his voice shaking out of sheer fury,

"You **will not** suspect Kyle Broflovski of anything, you hear me?! She fucking overdosed, okay!? She had a weak heart, she was anemic, and she was fucking drinking with all her pills, this was bound to happen! I came here for advice and I need to see Kyle, I need to tell him…I need…I need to see him, okay? I need to go!"

Shelly looked alarmed, "Stan, what you need is to sit down. You're excited, you're not acting like yourself. You need to help these men find out what happened to—"

"Fuck you, Shelly!" He snapped, closing his eyes as he practically breathed out fire, "Look," He opened his eyes to the investigators and policemen, "She fucking overdosed. She is dead, I never knew her well, and while I am horrified and distraught and all other fucking things and whatever, I can't do anything worth anything until I see Kyle. He has no idea this has happened and I need to see him, I need to hear him right now, or I swear to God, I'll burst, or I'll lose my mind!"

He was aware that he was no longer making sense, because all the faces in the room were turned to him and they weren't entirely welcoming. He growled and raked his hands through his hair on either side, adding,

"I-I know I sound crazy, a woman just died in my fucking arms, okay, I can't just—I won't just, I can't…I can't…look, I need to see Kyle, I need to see him right now, I need to, I need to…I need to…" He sighed again, pinching the space between his eyes, "I can't stay here…please, please, someone get me Kyle…or let me go,"

"We can't let you go just yet, Mr. Marsh, we're going to have more questions for you as the evening progresses," The investigator replied.

"Stanley," His mother called his attention and gently took his hand in hers, "Please sit down. You can see Kyle later. He will still be home when we get out of here,"

Stan couldn't bear the sound of sadness and surprise in his mother's voice, and so he silently complied and reluctantly sat back down. His mind racing, but blank and nothing comprehensible, no matter how much he spoke or was spoken to. All in his heart was Kyle and all his heart was in Kyle. He needed to know. Someone like Kyle would never have accused Stan of harming this woman, and it wasn't because Kyle was intelligent and it wasn't because Kyle was his friend. It was because Kyle knew him, and knew him to be a hero. He was Kyle's hero. He had to be. He wanted to be. More than anything. He was strong enough to be, he was smart enough to be, he was good-looking enough to be and he was more than just willing to be. His heart bled for Kyle and his soul cried for him and his sky broke for him and his eyes watered for him and his soul lifted and fell and his heart filled up and burst and broke all in one for him. He could hardly bear another moment without him. But for Kyle he would.

* * *

Bebe gasped, "That's just awful!"

"I know. Kyle got a call just a few hours ago, and when I called him he already knew. He sounds devastated; Cartman's not letting anyone get near him,"

She nodded, pacing her living-room, "That's probably best for now. He needs to be alone. Or at least have Eric there for him for now. Hey, Kenny?"

"Yeah?"

"…does this mean your plan—"

"Failed?" He finished in a sigh, "Yeah. Pretty miserably at that. Eric told me something interesting, though,"

"Uhm," She twisted her finger in her curls that rested on her shoulder, "…yeah? What'd he say?"

"That him and Kyle are leaving for Greece and won't be back for three years so Kyle can do cultural studies there with one of the professors that've been working with him,"

Bebe's eyes widened, "Oh my goodness! That's incredible!"

"I know. To think Eric Cartman of all people, Kyle Broflovski would end up wanting to go with... in any case, they're leaving in a month. Sounds like a dream; they've got some villa right on the water that they're staying at with this professor. Cartman's just going along for the ride for the most part, it sounds like, but Kyle had the choice to bring someone with him, and since he doesn't exactly have his family anymore, I guess he decided taking Cartman would be the next best thing,"

"Hmm. Are you doing okay?"

"…yeah. Better than I would have thought, anyway,"

"That's a lie," She replied worriedly.

"How do you always know?"

She laughed softly, bitterly, "I just know. It's something in your voice, I know. Can I see you?"

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, yeah, I'm fine. I just want to see you,"

"…for what?"

She smiled a little, cuddling in the warmth of his pullover, "Uhm," Her toes played and locked with each other, "I miss you,"

Kenny blushed, blowing grey smoke out his open window from his bedroom, his heart skipping a beat uncharacteristically,

"Uh…you miss me?"

"Y-yeah,"

"…so you want me to run out in the snow to your house?"

"I'd much rather go to yours,"

"Why? Your dad home?"

"Yeah,"

Kenny nodded, trying to bleach the red that had stained his light face,

"Alright. I'll see you in a little bit then,"

She smiled, "See ya,"

* * *

"_Geez, Broflovski, I wish I had a friend like you when I was a teenager. It's hard to find reliable, trustworthy people in high school, you two are very lucky to have each other."_

"…_The person you love, Broflovski, will be anything but perfect for you. They'll be a miss-match, a polar opposite…they will be everything you're not, they'll have everything you lack…and that's why you become so attracted…" _

"Kyle," Eric leaned his forehead against the door, "Kyle, can I please come in?"

"I am not prepared to talk yet,"

"That's the best time to talk, Kyle,"

"I know that,"

"How about this…you don't need to talk if you don't want to, just let me sit with you for a while,"

There was silence for a few moments. Eric backed away a little, staring at the door in painful adoration, knowing that the boy he so admired was in such awful agony. He scratched the back of his head, tilting his head, closing his eyes,

"Please?"

"…fine. Let me unlock the door,"

Eric stepped back, lifting his head to listen to the metal clinking within the wall. The boy stood before him, disheveled and cheeks, eyes, lips swollen from crying and his nose a glowing pink. His tie was hanging loosely around his shoulders, his fake glasses were finally removed and sitting somewhere on his bedside table, his pants hung below his waist and nearly covered his bare feet. He didn't wait long before crushing himself into Eric's arms and sobbing into his collarbone,

"She didn't deserve that," He said over and over, "She didn't deserve that,"

"I know," Eric replied simply; what else could he say?

Eric pet through the back of Kyle's hair and kept a strong, almost suffocating arm around his back, his hand splayed over his shoulder-blade. He picked up his cute, but terribly sad face to look at Eric and muttered,

"I used to be king here, Eric,"

His brows curved, "What?"

"I don't know what happened…I don't know how all this happened…everything started off okay, I can't remember when everything went bad, but I know that there was a time that I was king and nothing could hurt me and…and now look at me…Stan's gone, my family hates me, Bernadette's…" He sighed a sob, "Why would something like this happen to her? She didn't have anyone! She didn't have anyone but me! We were friends and siblings and co-workers and colleagues and peers and poets and everything together and she made me feel good when I couldn't even think about it and now…"

"_I told her that if I dropped dead, you'd be able to continue the lesson."_

"_It just gets lonely here. I needed some friendly company."_

"_Brandon was all I had left. Parents are dead, friends drifted away or died. Plus, I find you much easier to talk to."_

"Come on," Cartman insisted, directing the boy back towards his room, "I'll come sit with you,"

Kyle sniffled and was led back to his bed. Eric laid down against his mother's old pillows that held Kyle's scent now and pulled Kyle against him so that his head rested in the crease of his chest. He cried calmly for a short while, wetting Eric's fit-shirt and had no idea how much time had passed until he looked up slightly to look out the bedroom window, muttering,

"Your shirts fit now,"

"They do. I have you to thank,"

"I'm glad. I'm glad for that,"

Eric smiled weakly and closed his eyes as his head rested in the tuffs of red swirls.

"Her love was selfish,"

"Hmm?"

"She was selfish. She said that she loved Brandon because…he had everything she didn't, he was everything that she wasn't. It means he was selfless, he probably sacrificed all he ever was for her and she would want and beg for more and more from him…that is, if they're complete opposites; she drank, she abused her drugs and liquor and pushed away anyone who tried to help her. She was self-absorbed…that didn't make her a bad person, but if she insists that she fell in love with her complete opposite, Brandon must have been very self-sacrificing," He trailed off for a moment, "…if people really only live to know and understand and elongate pain, then what would be most painful is if she found this never-ending fountain of contentment, of happiness and love…and abused its magic and wonder to simply cause herself pain…"

"What are you going on about, Kyle?"

"…she said she was attracted to him because she wanted what he had…is that like me and Stan?"

"Is what like you and Stan?"

"…maybe…maybe Stan loves me, Eric,"

The brunette cocked a brow, "What would make you say that?"

"He's so selfish. He's always so selfish when it comes to me. After all the years of everything we've been through…he always says he's the only one allowed to copy my homework, not because he's lazy…"

"_But you're staying, right?"_

"_Yeah, yeah, you know I always do. I'll just do my psychology homework; you'll do the Spanish homework with me, right?"_

"_You'll probably end up answering most of the questions for me again."_

"_I would expect no less."_

"…well, not entirely, but more so because he wants a piece of me all to himself. He insists on spending time with me even when I tell him I can't hang out, because he wants to be the one exception..."

"_I…told you I couldn't hang out today."_

"_I know, but I didn't care."_

"…maybe he just keeps taking from me without giving back because it's his way of punishing himself…for loving me…?"

Eric sat up as Kyle did, "Maybe that's pure human nature, maybe that's what I was trying to say. Maybe we're not perfect or pretty or poetic, we're messy and stupid and we're not _slightly_ masochistic, we '**are**' masochists, because if we're in pain, we then feel as if we deserve the utter glory and beauty and euphoria of existence. Me and Stan, we pushed and pushed at each other, absorbing all of each other's time, forcing the other to be with us because it was a constant reminder of what the other wasn't and what the other couldn't be. We would take pride in our strengths, but individually, we wouldn't be able to confront our failures. Whereas he's immensely social, I'm timid and can't fix that, and where I'm highly intelligent, he's probably never going to pass English. He is someone who works purely off of instincts and I bet his instincts told him to hurt himself because he couldn't love someone if he couldn't love himself because he didn't love himself for the failures he _felt_ he adopted, but those so-called 'failures', those 'imperfections' make him who he is, and make the holes where my key can fit and complete him. Maybe I'm what he's not, maybe I'm everything he's not and he's everything I'm not and we fit together and need each other to feel like we're alive because it's the feeling of completion and unworthiness and it's blissful turmoil—the way life is supposed to be when you're in love…"

They stared at each other for a long few moments. Kyle added,

"That would be very selfish of both of us, wouldn't it?"

He nodded, "That kind of insanity is no way to live. It's a pretty story to tell, but you need stability, Kyle,"

"…_There's no me without you, but even if I had the choice to stand while you fell, Stan, I wouldn't; half of me could never appreciate stability as much as a whole of me could treasure being at rock bottom with you."_

"…stability?" He asked.

"…_He's looking for stability in a world that offers anything but. And in all the bliss of his turmoil, he doesn't realize it..."_

He looked away, "I don't…know,"

"It's what you need, Kyle. Your life has been twisted upside down and spun left and right so much recently, what you need is some solid ground. Stan isn't going to give you that; even if you're right,"

Kyle looked back at him, surprise in his worn eyes, but face otherwise too tired to form an expression,

"Even if you're right about all that. Even if you're right about him being in love with you and not knowing it or something, what happens then? Huh? You date Stan?"

Kyle blushed shamefully, "Well…"

"Exactly. Sounds pretty stupid coming out of someone else's mouth now, doesn't it? You date him for, what, a week? Then you're off to Greece. Even if you decide not to take me with you, Kyle, I won't allow Stan to go with you,"

The bookworm frowned, "…you won't allow it?"

"I won't. He's no good for you. All he does is shit like this, he doesn't deserve you. So, even if you decide not to take me with you, I won't give up my ticket to Stan," He practically breathed steam through his nose, glancing away shortly, "Look, I care about you. I want you to be happy and I want life to even itself out for you…I don't want this constant…shaky ground for you. I don't know that…your love for Stan…is worth all the pain it's gonna take to just see if he returns those feelings…" He cupped Kyle's cheek in his sizeable hand and pressed his forehead against the freckled boy's, "I want to be your hero. It's time now, that someone better sweep you off your feet and into their arms to take care of you and love you and help you…"

Kyle's heart began to pound, his eyes watering even though he had been certain that he could cry no more.

"…what are you saying?"

Eric raked a hand through Kyle's hair, his other hand's thumb caressing Kyle's cheek lovingly,

"Poetry…right? Speaks to you,"

Kyle could begin to feel Eric's breath against his surprisingly wanting lips,

"Have you ever been at sea in a dense fog, when it seemed as if a tangible white darkness shut you in and the great ship, tense and anxious, groped her way toward the shore with plummet and sounding-line, and you waited with beating heart for something to happen?"

He kissed Kyle's chin,

"…I was like that ship before my education began, only I was without compass or sounding line, and no way of knowing how near the harbor was…"

He pressed his lips against Kyle's bottom lip, peeled away slowly and finished, ""Light! Give me light!" was the wordless cry of my soul…and the light of love shone on me in that very hour…"

"That's beautiful," He replied shakily.

"So are you,"

And his lips no longer belonged to him alone.

Tears still rolling down his face, blood still pouring out his heart, his stomach still oddly empty and bones rattling in the weak cage of his being like a broken figurine in an unlined case. He wrapped his lanky arms around Eric, inviting him, inviting the comfort, the love, the happiness and warmth and safety to consume him and fill him to the brim. The broken echoing of his heart, the shaking of the marrow in his very skeleton, his fangs feeling short and hair felt heavy. Eric supported himself over Kyle's body, kissing him, loving him, caressing him and gently handling him like a delicate, lucid, but pleasant dream he wished for every pain and torture than to escape. Kissing Eric was gorgeous, and his skin was warm and soft and his hands were dangerous but protective and his eyes were glassy but determined.

Kyle wondered how much of him still belonged to him. How much of himself did leave with Bernadette? How much of himself was in his briefcase and lost in hours, forever irretrievable spent after school in a building of who should have been his peers? How much of himself ran away when he hid from Stanley's terrible words? How much of himself self-destructed at the sound of his mother crying and his father screaming? How heavy was his spirit now if so much of it had been split so many ways? How much could his heart cost him now? If he traded his soul for a bag of gold, he wondered who would have been the foolish one.


	39. Something in the Air Other than Tragedy

Wendy was passing the elementary school in her father's BMW, glancing disinterestedly out the side window and catching a glimpse of someone from her distant past. She stopped the car abruptly, illegally twisting around and screeching up next to the blonde girl. She stopped, her skirt wafting a little in the flakes of snow brushing past, black stockings, brown converse sneakers and an orange pullover not entirely outlining her figure. Wendy breathed out slowly, finally becoming aware that she had stopped right next to Bebe Stevens with nothing in her arsenal prepared.

"Wendy,"

The girl nodded, "I…what are you doing? What are you doing out here so late?"

"I'm meeting up with a friend. What are you doing driving so recklessly in the middle of the night? You could get hurt like that,"

Wendy tucked some of her ebony hair behind her ear,

"Did you hear about Mrs. Barnes?"

"I did. It's simply awful what happened to that woman. She was apparently really close with Kyle Broflovski. I'm sure he's just a wreck over everything,"

_But you'd know all about that…_ Bebe thought to herself.

"Is that who you're going to meet?"

"No, Kyle's my teacher now, that'd be inappropriate. I don't mean to be rude, Wendy, but I don't really see how any of this is your business,"

They both froze, but Bebe remained strong against Wendy's wave of discomfort crashing against her cool and unbiased facade,

"Where I am going and what scandals I have been discussing with whoever isn't much your business,"

"How could you say something like that?"

"You sound hurt," She said in surprise, "You're the one who friend-dumped me, Wendy," Bebe crossed her arms over her swollen chest that was pronounced even under her tattered sweater. This action presented her bag finally,

"Where are you going?"

"I told you, I'm meet—"

"You're sleeping over someone's house…why else would you have a bag?"

"Again, that's not your business, Wendy," She turned around, her brown skirt swinging as she began to saunter away, "Good-night, Wendy, drive safely,"

Wendy rested her forehead against her steering wheel, her hands mussing her hair as she growled at herself and suffocated a sob. What was wrong with her? Of course it wasn't any of her business. She 'was' the one to friend-dump Bebe. She wanted her back, though.

She wanted her back.

Why could she just say that?

_Get home. Get sleep. Forget her._

Each embrace and adorable laugh, every brush of her hair, every butterfly kiss against her arm when she'd curl up next to her at sleepovers. Each flash of her magnificent stare from across the room, her daring personality, her dirt bike that she hid in the garage, her body floating in the air when she'd jump on Wendy's giant trampoline. Each smile and clasping of hands and inside jokes and secrets and big deals that in retrospect weren't really that big of deals. Yeah. Just go home and forget about it.

* * *

Bebe laughed, falling onto her back, her head hitting Kenny's pillow with a 'puff' and her hair splayed out under her.

"Yeah? And what happened?"

Kenny was smiling, in-taking more nicotine before replying,

"He let us go with a warning because we were all dressed as pirates,"

Bebe laughed again, "You're funny, Kenny,"

He grinned, "Thanks, Bebe, you're cute,"

That was odd.

They looked at each other strangely. Kenny would only describe girls like that when he wanted to get them into bed. He had a wide variety of compliments he would use, but words like 'adorable' and 'cute' were the easiest and quickest ones that came to mind and made girls fawn over him. In fear of insulting her, knowing she knew this, he quickly gathered himself,

"N-not cute in the…in the slutty way or anything, I mean you're cute in a different way,"

She giggled again, sighing, "Cute isn't _supposed_ to have lewd connotations, Kenny. I understand, don't worry. Thank you,"

Kenny put out his cigarette and chewed down an entire pack of tictacs in one swig. Bebe clapped and told him,

"I've had this insatiable desire to watch the Pokémon movies. Will you watch them with me?"

Kenny looked at her very seriously,

"Is that supposed to be a fucking joke?"

There was a short silence, wherein Bebe began to doubt her ability to censor or control her childish side in front of more mature people. Kenny looked away,

"I'll get the ice cream, you make the fort,"

She grinned and jumped up as he ran out the door. She grabbed all the extra pillows from his closet, his parents' room and his bed and built a fort that formed a box around and in front of the desk that held the television set and a blanket overstretched on the top of it all; all the while, humming the Mission Impossible Theme. As she was stacking pillows like pillars by the foot of his bed that was parallel with the desk holding the VCR/DVD player and television she heard him yell,

"DO YOU LIKE SPRINKLES? FUCK—"

"FUCK WHAT?" She called back.

"I JUST GOT WHIPPED CREAM ALL OVER MY FRICKING FACE—DO YOU LIKE WHIPPED CREAM?"

She laughed again, "YEAH! HURRY UP!"

"GOD DAMN IT, WOMAN, I'M GOING AS FAST AS I CAN! ICE CREAM PREPARATION IS A DELICATE ART!"

She laughed again and took the movies out of her bag, under the dark of her new-made fort. She heard him slide down the hardwood hallway on his socks, nearly falling over and making her laugh again. He came in and looked down at the masterpiece,

"Awesome,"

She peeked through the top of the fort, her chin resting on one of the pillow-walls and the blanket on top resting on her head,

"What's the password?"

"You didn't tell me there was a pass—"

"IT'S A FORT, KENNY, OBVIOUSLY THERE IS GOING TO BE A PASSWORD,"

He laughed and shifted awkwardly, exhaling with aggravation,

"I dunno! Does a password matter? I have ice cream!"

She giggled, "Close enough. It was pickle juice,"

"How is that close?"

"Get in here,"

He chuckled and shut off his lights, crawling on the floor into the fort. He sat next to her against the foot of his bed, handing her one of the bowls as the Pokémon theme began to play. She took her bowl and noticed he had brought the can of whipped cream with him. She opened her mouth and stretched out her tongue as a signal for him to give her some. He looked at her with a cocked brow and imitated, poorly, her voice,

"What's the password?"

She glared, with her tongue still stuck out, "Th-uck you, Kenneh, gimmee s-thum!"

He laughed and took the can, spraying far too much, making her back away and catch the falling tower of white with her feminine hands. She scowled at him as he laughed and poured some into his own mouth. He took a bite of ice cream afterwards, still laughing at her visible struggle. She was licking all over her left hand as she told him,

"You totally suck,"

"You totally suck,"

"No, you totally suck,"

He nudged her and she nudged back, to which he tugged on her hair, making her squeak. He started to laugh until he noticed what she was wearing.

"…that's my sweater…"

"…yeah…I'm sorry, do you want it back?"

Kenny contemplated taking it back. There was hesitation in her lovely voice. He had had that stupid sweater for so long, but he had given it up so easily. Did he really need it back? He had let her keep it for so long, so willingly, without any restrictions or apprehension. He loved that. What was it that made him feel so safe around her? What was it about Bebe Stevens that he was so stuck on?


	40. Practically Perfection

"Straighten your tie,"

"My what?"

Eric walked over from across the living-room to Kyle, who was standing by the front door, his suit all black and silky looking, his hair more calm than usual and his fake glasses completely forgotten in his room; he was in no playful mood this day. Eric was dressed in black as well, but a dark maroon collared shirt underneath with a black tie. He got closer to Kyle and realigned his black tie, tucking it into his black vest. He looked back at Kyle, the redhead not meeting his eyes.

"Thank you,"

"How are you doing?"

"…I've been better,"

"…yeah. Hey," He took his thumb and forefinger to Kyle's chin, lifting his face to meet his eyes, "You're amazing. And she's still here,"

"…what are you talking about?"

"Not physically, but she helped you to who you are, and I love who you are,"

"…what are you saying?" He asked tiredly, though not disinterestedly.

"Nothing, I…nothing," He said, looking away, "Just cry a lot today. You need it,"

"I know,"

"Do you?"

Kyle watched Eric's strong back as the brunette stared blankly at the couch cushions. Kyle remembered Bernadette asking the same thing on another topic. He remembered that when she asked that, rather than delving into a philosophical and self-searching discussion, he changed the subject, because he was too tired to deal with it. And now that she was gone, he hated himself for wasting that chance to have that talk with her. If she was somehow speaking through Eric, or this conversation, this question was meant to be asked, he thought that this may be his last chance to answer it, and answer it right.

"…Eric?"

He didn't face Kyle as he responded softly, "Do you really know what you need, Kyle?"

"What I need? Of course, I need air, sleep and food,"

"Sure," He scoffed, "I should've seen that coming,"

"What's that supposed to mean?" He asked strangely calm.

Eric finally, very gradually turned to face the prodigy,

"You're a human, Kyle. You need to be cared after, just like the rest of us. You need to feel accepted, to feel like you've got a family, like you've got friends, you need people to rely on, to love and more importantly, **you** need to feel loved,"

"I do feel loved,"

"Bullshit," He spat, "That's bullshit and you know it. Your family kicked you out months ago and haven't spoken to you, Stan's ditched you for popularity and Wendy and I use up all your energy and help like a sponge! You give, give and give and I just take, take and take, just like every other Godforsaken asshole in this town has! The difference is, is that I gave you my home when you had none, that's all that separates me, that I was a friend to you when you had none—"

"And you kissed me,"

There was a heavy silence; Eric let his head fall, his mahogany hair cloaking his face.

"And I'm sorry,"

"You're sorry you kissed me?"

He shifted awkwardly, "Yeah, I'm sorry, okay? Just…let's just not…"

"Not talk about it?"

"Yeah,"

Kyle scowled, "No,"

Eric picked up his head to look Kyle in the eyes, "What?"

"No. Fuck you, Eric, I want to talk about it,"

"…I'm not gay,"

"Why did you kiss me?"

"I'm not gay!"

"Alright, whatever, Eric, just tell me why!"

The brunette had a hurt and twisted expression, "I'm not…"

He trailed off and Kyle just glared expectantly…

"You just have that about you, Kyle…I don't know what to tell you,"

"What? What do you mean I have something about me? What do I have about me?"

"You…exert this…this…I don't know, it's kind of like a pheromone, a chemical, I guess, maybe, I don't…I can't explain it. There's something about you that's…"

"That's what?"

"Seductive!" He answered at last, "…Jesus Christ," He breathed out, "Okay? You seduced me, it was weird and I don't even know if I liked it or not, I just know that I wanted to kiss you and hold you and…and it's not something you said specifically that I can remember, I don't remember if it was a face you made or something…I think it's been happening for a while, ever since summer break ended, I've been thinking about you a lot and…and I can't help it…I never meant to jump you, I just…couldn't stop myself. I'm sorry,"

"You'll still come to Greece with me, right?"

There was another odd silence wherein Eric Cartman questioned reality and whether or not he was in an alternate dimension.

"…you still want me to come?"

"Yeah. And, maybe…if you're inclined…"

"What?"

Kyle looked away, feigning disinterest as best he could, but a small blush crept its way onto his features,

"If you're inclined…to kiss me again…maybe we can…maybe something could happen,"

Eric's brows curved, "I'm not gay, Kyle. I'm sorry,"

"I know, I do, I just…"

"You just want to be loved, Kyle," He smiled as Kyle looked back at him from under his lashes, "You know what…I'm whatever you need me to be, Kyle. If you need a boyfriend, a husband, a father, a brother, an enemy, a friend, whatever you need, I'll be it for you. Just give me the word,"

Kyle blushed furiously, "You shouldn't make such empty promises, Eric,"

"They're not empty, I'm doing what you've been doing for everyone else since the day you were cranked out,"

"But, Eric—"

"It's okay if you don't know what you want yet, and today with all that's happening, it's probably not ideal for making decisions like that. Just tell me when you know, if you ever do,"

"…thank you, Eric,"

Cartman approached him gently, apprehensively, but swiftly took him into his strong arms and held him tightly,

"Of course,"

Kyle smiled weakly against Eric and wondered idly if things would ever be okay again.

* * *

"Your tie, Stanley,"

"Sorry?"

Wendy smiled weakly and turned to him, tightening his tie. She looked up at him, then tilted her head,

"Are you doing any better?"

"I haven't gotten to speak to Kyle,"

"No one has,"

"I haven't gotten to speak to you either,"

She seemed worried, "What? What do you mean?"

"I need to talk to you about important stuff,"

A loud, but gentle wind silenced anything else she could have said, sorry leaves wafting past and scraping along the graves. Stanley folded his arm over his diaphragm, absently biting the corner of his mouth. His eyes flickered up at the sound of shined shoes crunching on the unforgiving grounds, and the stranger he was head over heels for was suddenly before him; not in the way he knew his love, though. It was as if his soul had literally crumpled and fallen away with the regretful leaves, pale as snow, his eyes glazed with death and sorrow, overwrought with sadness and a pink tint under and around his eyes to convey just how much he had been crying. Their eyes met, and at this contact, Kyle's moist lashes clipped each other and he looked at Eric, muttering,

"I do not want to speak. Don't make me,"

"You know I won't make you do anything, Kye,"

Stan cringed; Kyle's voice was so low, it was so raspy, it was so worn and tired. Why was Eric not making him his favorite lemon tea? Why was Eric not giving him spoonfuls of honey? Why was Eric not holding him and loving him the way Stanley wanted to? Where was Saint Bernadette in all of this mess? Where was her psychiatrist that prescribed her these deadly pills, and would he have ever warned her that she was becoming addicted? Where had all the sanity and clarity gone? Where was the day that they tickled each other in the snow? Where was the moonlight from Kyle's window? Where was Kyle's smile and Kyle's laughter? When did it go away? When did it disappear? When he fell on the ice with Stan, did his smile fall off and sink into the indents they carved into the frozen water? When Stan couldn't help but touch at Kyle's thick lips, did he accidentally erase it with his thumb? Was his laughter carried away with the wind of their whispering when Stan kissed him that fateful night?

"Kyle…"

The redhead looked up, quick like a muskrat, his curls bouncing with less enthusiasm than Stanley was used to.

"You were…with her…"

Eric's hand took Kyle's weak shoulder, pulling him back slightly,

"Don't speak to him, now isn't the time,"

Wendy looped her arm through Stan's, "Don't start anything, Stanley,"

He scowled at her, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Brandon,"

They all looked up to the mystery-man. Finally, to greet the eyes of Saint Bernadette's destroyer, to the rumored and notorious cheater known as Brandon Barnes. He was tall, somewhat muscular, dark hair, dark eyes, perfect bone structure but lines under his tired eyes. Stan broke his arm from Wendy, shouting as he advanced forward,

"This is all your fault!"

The man's almond eyes widened, "Excuse me?"

"His fault?" Kyle defended, voice raspy and old sounding.

Stan looked at the boy, water climbing up his irises,

"He killed her! He killed her! It's his fault! She was overdosing on purpose! She was getting high! She was getting addicted and it's because of him! She killed herself and no one is listening!"

"Fuck you!" Kyle screeched, his voice cracking, pulling his shoulder away from Eric's hand, "Fuck you, Stan, you didn't even know her!"

"I did know her, Kyle! She was a saint!"

"Damn right she was, and you didn't know her! Fuck you!" He began to cry, tearing Stan's heart to shreds, "Fuck you, Stan! For being there when I should've been! That was mine!" He held his stomach, his eyes flashing to the ground as tears forced their way down his sore and tired face, his eyes just barely capable of making them, "She was mine! She was my guardian! She was my help! My aid! She was my friend, not yours! She loved me! She cared about me! I would have found the Godforsaken phone! I would have carried her to the Goddamn hospital! But you didn't know her! You didn't care like I do! You stole this from me just like you did everything else! Why have you taken everything?! What did I do to deserve this?!"

It was the first time he had asked those things aloud, and he soon fell to his knees, his dress pants dirtied with the soil from the ground over Bernadette's grave. The tears kept coming, no matter how much it hurt, no matter how hot his face got and they watered the ground that his un-biological mother lie. He was curling over, his face ruined with sadness and loneliness, he looked up to Brandon, swallowing audibly to keep from sobbing,

"She missed you…I just hope it was all worth it for you,"

He looked at Kyle strangely as Eric knelt down, sweeping Kyle off the ground and standing him up. He picked up his face with his hands cupping his cheeks and kissed him. Stan's heart stopped and Brandon seemed a thousand different kinds of confused. He pulled away, pulling a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and giving it to Kyle. He took his right hand, planted it to the back of Kyle's tangerine locks and pushed his beautiful but furiously upset face to his chest. He kissed the top of his head and muttered,

"No anger, Kye. There's no time for anger. You should know that by now,"

Kyle looked up with one eye to Stan, Eric's tie wet with Kyle's sadness, he scowled,

"That should have been me. If it was me…this never would have happened. He gets everything he doesn't deserve,"

Stan's heart was breaking, Wendy went out to reach to him, but she found she was paralyzed with fear to touch him, scared he may shatter into pieces if she so much as breathed near him. He looked at Brandon, heeding Eric's words and forgetting his anger,

"I…you're Mr. Barnes, right?"

He put his hand out. Brandon looked at it, then hesitantly took it in his, gave one weak shake and replied,

"Yes. I am,"

"I was with her when she died,"

"So I heard,"

"She thought I was you,"

He seemed interested now. He flustered a little, his eyes watered a little and Stanley noticed the greys in his hair for the first time – how old was Brandon Barnes? How old had his sadness made him?

"What did…did she say anything?"

"She said she was happy you were with her. She said she wasn't angry, that she missed you a lot. She said she loved you, after everything, that the pain didn't matter, she loved you and I told her you loved her back. She smiled, said that that made her so happy and…that was the last thing she…said,"

"…she thought you were me?"

The older man tried to see the likeness, and if he looked hard enough, yes, Stanley Marsh did look like him if they were ten years in the past. He smiled,

"You said you loved her?"

"Yes,"

"For me?"

"Yes,"

"Thank you. You will never know how much that means,"

"I'm just glad I knew what to do. And…I thought it was sorta…uh…poetic, how, no matter what, she was intent on dying next to you. Whether you were really there or not, she convinced herself you were, and that made it real for her, and it made her happy. I'm just…glad she died like she lived. Poetically, and…loving you,"

Brandon let a tear fall down his face, smiling bitterly,

"This was my fault, wasn't it?"

No one responded, and Stanley looked away, back to Wendy, taking her under his arm and looking sadly to Kyle, who seemed despondent and empty. His eyes utterly blank and unreadable. Just glassy and sad. Nothing else. No love, no anger, no hatred, nothing. Just blank. Brandon reached into a briefcase he had at his side since he had arrived and brought out a book of poetry. He cleared his throat,

"This is a piece that Bernadette wrote a few years ago, and it was actually published this day about ten or eleven years ago. I thought it'd be appropriate…" He flipped to the first page, slipping on glasses he had in his coat pocket, "In the year of bated breath and lover's debt, there lived a man and his beautiful wife. And though they toiled in circular disintricacies and stayed the coming of any age time mustered, they loved each other dearly, to the threat of every deathbed and beyond,"

Kyle's eyes shot open wide, and he pulled away from Eric's chest, looking at Brandon in shock,

"She spent her days singing songs about the house as she did everything in her power to create the best home she could manage of the sagging willows and bastard reeds she gathered for the husband she loved so much. And always, though he never knew the verses precisely, though he always knew the words to give her, though they sometimes meant the same with their smattered syllables and back traced fingers on the parchment beneath the pillows, always there were sweets on the table,"

His own callused digits ran across the side of his forehead distractedly, "He brought them in her sleep, in his wake, kneeling on the floor for the morning. Always, arms thin but full, eyes wide but view narrow, their blessings as few as one with every beautiful and dismembered as the enchantment he suffered. A blissful zealot,"

He silenced for a moment then picked up,

"She smiled when he made his prayers between her legs, when he tasted the divine upon her mortal tongue, and when he loved her from the inside out…" He paused, nearly crying, "…She always wished at the top of her pitches for his ultimate happiness, always thought of how fortunate she was to love so readily and be loved so readily in return. 'Someday', she'd say, 'someday I will make a copy of you', though she did not know she was unable. 'Someday,' she'd say, 'I'll make you something perfect,' …"

Stanley looked up, thinking it sounded oddly familiar.

He sighed, "When he'd fall asleep, dead of night or dark of day, she'd whisper her songs into his open ears until she too fell unconscious. She always rattled in the spiral of his ears, a broken figurine in an unlined case, but it tickled pleasantly; the bells, the tottering footfalls, the sliding doors and water on granite, all sounds and all things bubbling at the base of his neck. They kept the vermin at bay,"

He breathed deeply, "they stood before the shrine, wet and desolate; his hands always played a part in the rhythms and functions of what, to any man, were as clear as water under a full moon. Clean and quiet, with the scent of sandwood,"

His brows creased, "But she could not bear perfection for him, unknown to him, and slowly her songs fell away. Her fingers limp and body numb, that evening heralded no whispers for she could barely breathe with so much wire twined like ivy about her whitewashed neck. She wanted so badly to give him a copy of himself, she wanted so madly to make something perfect…she waited for his return, arms thin but full, eyes wide but view narrow. When he saw her, she was bound and brittle, is thin arms fell and the floor was filled with the taste of pomegranate; he tried and tried and tried, his eyes so wide and view so narrow that in the end he saw nothing,"

He wiped at another tear, continuing, "In the end, he knelt as he always would for her, waiting for her whispers, waiting and waiting and waiting for her whispers to return. Head tilted, ears to lips; he smiled as he waited for her, so happy to just be home with her, waiting for her whispers,"

Kyle looked at Stan, to find Stan was already staring at him. They looked at each other with wide eyes for a long few moments as Brandon finished,

"When he grew impatient, he was a craftsman. His fingers laid across the lacquer of her throat and the ripple of the wire, and when he tasted them he tasted the silver of the moon and the gold of the carp just beneath that reflection, there, just beneath that sleeping pulse, there was perfection,"

He had a piece of looseleaf taped to a pretty stone, and in thin, black sharpie, it read,

"Just Beneath This Sleeping Pulse, There Is Perfection"

He left it at the foot of her grave, whispered something about atonement, and returned to the shadows he seemed to slither from only at the last moment when it was too late. Stan had that feeling then; that feeling like all the lights in the world were off accept for the two on him and Kyle, but it was still unreadable, still scary and still unsure. He was no Brandon Barnes. He was Stanley Marsh, and he was torturing the person he loved most of all. He refused to slip into shadows, he refused to hurt Kyle just to see if he could. He would defy human nature, he would hurt himself, he would sacrifice himself for Kyle. He needed to, or he'd lose what was most dear to him. He would lose the perfection Kyle Broflovski was. He would lose his life, his love, his breath and Earth, sigh, wind, poetry, fire, and all that he was and is. His world would be his again. He was intent on it.

* * *

**Absence = inexplicable **

**I AM SO SORRY I'VE BEEN AWAY SO LONG. I PROMISE TO UPDATE MUCH MUCH MUCH FASTER NOW! Reviews, PMs, Fanarts and all are soo appreciated! 3 Thank you for all the support thus far!**


	41. Secrets Screaming Out Loud

**First off, I'd like to address a review I got recently. This story doesn't have FILLER chapters, it only has 2 FILLER chapters. My writing style concentrates HEAVILY on character development, repetition, symbolism and subtle parallels that are addressed in each and every chapter. I make sure of it. **

**So the fact that people are skipping over chapters only hurts you later, cause you're missing vital parts of the story that I put a lot of time and patience into. Well, it doesn't hurt you, but it doesn't give a reader a fair chance to take in everything I've put hours into putting together. In any case, for those who leave helpful and kind critiques, thank you very much. Thank you to all favorites/PMs and fanarts too! **

**Also, to .-HeartBreakProduction.-, your PM was flattering and I'd respond in a PM if my internet wasn't being stupid. :D If you have any other questions or comments, please leave a review so I can personally respond! Thank you everyone, and here's your latest installment!**

* * *

_Run your fingers through my soul  
tangle me and lose control  
knots and knots of mistakes  
rope so tight, it snaps and breaks_

"My secret is screaming, you just need to hear it…"

Eric turned from the kitchen counter to the kitchen table, where the low-hanging, foggy-looking lamp was the only light that buzzed in the otherwise night-consumed room. Eric put his cutting knife down, neglecting Kyle's recipe of banana bread.

_Throw your thoughts over my head  
waste your wishes on the dead  
leaves and leaves of unwanted lives,  
collect at my feet and tickle like knives_

He shifted and his waist cocked to one side as an unfamiliar chill ran down his spine and felt as if it was reshaping his already fairly poor posture.

_Force your sins down my throat  
sink me deep then watch me float  
buckets and buckets of un-fallen rain  
you're always catching what you fail to contain_

He blinked, wondering if Kyle had actually spoken at all. He was currently sitting at the table, surrounded in paperwork he brought home from work, his fake glasses sitting in the middle of the table that leaned against the far wall. Kyle didn't look up,

"That line stayed with me. My secret is screaming, you just need to hear it…"

_Steal my eyes and read my lips  
the answer is right at your fingertips  
hints and hints of sparkling spirit  
my secret is screaming, you just need to hear it_

"What are you talking about?"

_Steer the road deep into my skin  
I'll drive until I find where I've been  
memories and memories of forgetting  
I've abandoned the stage that still needs setting_

"Your poem. I re-read it and re-read it, and I came to two conclusions,"

_Walk your fingers across my spine  
cast me away and take what's mine  
start me up and drive me far  
leave me stranded but take your car_

He stared harder at the piece of paper in front of him, trying hard to shut his mouth and stop his own accusations and thoughts, but he had to know for Eric's own safety. His eyes made the words on the paper bleed together, nothing made sense, it was all blurry and incoherent. His own brain wouldn't let him read or do his work until he knew what he had to know. He prayed he was wrong. He hoped with all that was left of his heart that Eric was not a victim of what he was thinking.

_Bleed your presence in my mind  
think of me crawling and falling behind  
photos and photos of a single frame  
it's you and me in this dangerous game_

Kyle's ivy eyes shifted slightly, just slightly, "I've thought on it for months, every time I look at your poetry, every time I think about how old you were when you wrote it and all, I…the first thing that came to mind, I would think you were violently abused by your mother…however I highly doubt it as your mother was very kind, but…"

_It's you and me, although you never asked to play  
I couldn't say no, I just had to obey  
years and years with the rules you abuse  
no matter how strong of a player I am,  
I always seemed to lose._

"…the only other plausible explanation would be that you were molested,"

There was a grand silence. Kyle continued shakily, his hand weak against the now iron paper in his hold,

"I-I mean, you mother here, all the time with creeps that were sleeping with her. You loved your mother, Eric, but you knew what kind of woman she was. And you loved her enough not to tell her that someone who was with her abused her son. You probably didn't want her knowing that. And you sure as hell didn't want someone like me knowing, someone you used to hate. You weren't about to tell Stan who would of course have blabbered it by now and Kenny was always ridiculing your mother, so you wouldn't confide in him either. Most children who experience sexual abuse fall into poor physical habits, explaining your obesity as a child and your lack of care for yourself and your hygiene once you were left alone. You've always hated adults, you've always had this need to feel as if you were manlier or above someone else meaning you probably had or still have a self-image problem or victim-complex, you're frigid when it comes to romance and you're not enticed by men, but you'll still kiss them if it appeals or seems convenient. Your poetry conveys this constant search for a confidant, anyone to tell your secret to, anyone to protect you or acknowledge at all that you were abused. I didn't want to say it, Eric, I didn't even want to think it, but how could I not know? How could…"

He finally looked at the brunette, putting the paper down on the table. His maroon eyes were wide and shining with the dim lamp light. Kyle's eyes widened to match Eric's, his shoulders moving and waist turning so he could fully face the teenager,

"…Eric, were you molested?"

He twitched, but didn't glance away for a millisecond.

"_What was your poem about?"_

"_Why?"_

"_I…just want to know…"_

"_No, of course, it doesn't, it's not…it's not about anything, it was shit anyway. I just made it up as I went along, it's nothing,"_

"Eric, who did it?"

"I…"

Kyle stood up and, although he was shorter and skinnier than Eric, felt stronger. Eric had become a very fit young man, a very handsome young man, a very helpful young man, a very good young man. Neither of them heard Eric's knees hit the tiled floor, neither could report the exact hour that Eric was able to form a complete and coherent thought, neither could remember entirely how long Eric cried and neither, certainly, knew what to do with the information at hand.

* * *

"Why did you bring Kenny? I told you this was between you and me," Stan started, advancing to Wendy in the playground of their elementary school.

"He's meeting someone here, we just bumped into each other,"

"Fine," He looked to Kenny, "Can you give us privacy?"

"Yeah," Kenny answered, he looked at Wendy and recalled Bebe's voice…

"_Why don't you show yourself like this to everyone else, Kenny?"_

He patted her back, "If you need me or…something…I mean, you can text me or whatever and I'll…uh…text back, for sure…kay? And like…if you…uh…need me, you can text that to me…and…uh…we'll come get you or…whatever,"

Kenny decided that he really wasn't cut out to be friendly, especially to Wendy Testaburger, but he would be if Bebe wanted it that way. He would do anything for her. At the thought of her, she slowly approached behind Stan. Kenny nodded at her, noting that she was wearing his sweatshirt still and he flustered a little. He walked up to her, abandoning Wendy's side and his breath turned to fog between them. She pushed some blonde hair behind her ear, her pinky finger curled cutely, her nose a charming shade of crimson, her eyes glistening at just seeing him. It was clear as day how she felt about him; at least to Stanley. Nothing on Wendy or Kenny's expressions implied that they knew, though. Kenny looked at Wendy from over his shoulder,

"Are you ready yet?"

"Ready…ready for what?"

Stan glanced between the two; the blonde boy shrugged and responded, "I guess not,"

Bebe cocked a brow at Kenny momentarily, but didn't linger long. She waved to the two other teenagers a few feet away and soon left with Kenny. As they turned beyond the corner of the building, Kenny's heart inexplicably pounding, he quickly took Bebe's hand in his, announcing,

"I think it's really cute that you wear my clothes,"

She was caught off guard and her heart skipped a beat. She didn't look down, thinking that his hand may have just brushed hers and that she was overacting. The warmth in her palm didn't go away, though. His pulse was bouncing off her own and she was petrified that he could hear her heart or feel just how nervous, how enticed, how enchanted she was by him, by the one simple touch.

"Not cute in the slutty way, though, right?" She giggled nervously, trying to shake off the romance that blinded her senses.

He chuckled back, "No, not in the slutty way,"

She finally looked at their hands, then back to Kenny's face, staying silent. He didn't look at her; he couldn't determine why looking into her eyes might scare him out of answering her inaudible question, but he knew it would. He glanced to the left, concrete and snow and mist from his exhaling distracting him visually as he told her,

"It's alright?"

"Yeah, it's alright,"

"Good,"

She squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back, hoping it would suffice for conversation so that he wouldn't feel this new anxiety anymore, so that he wouldn't have to say all the thoughts that had been haunting him for months.

"What's gotten into you?" She asked.

Her concern, her one question ruined any hope of him holding it back. It triggered the flood of thoughts in him to pour out his mouth without censorship.

"I did all this…for him,"

He felt her hand loosen and slowly fall away. It hurt him more than he could have ever expected it would, to know that what he was saying was hurting her. And he wondered if he had ever felt so alone as the moment she let go of his hand.

"I know," She told him seriously.

"He was always the cynical one," He started, "He was always the bad kid. And he hated how close Stan and Kyle were. I did all this, I planted every seed with perfect precaution, perfect timing, everything down to the gritty details…and instead of congratulating me…instead of noticing me, acknowledging that I could be someone like him, that I could be someone he could like…he noticed Kyle. And liked Kyle. Just like everyone else,"

Bebe shrugged, staring at him although he didn't meet her gaze,

"Maybe Eric isn't all the cynical he seems to be,"

Kenny's eyes shifted to her, "What do you mean?"

"I mean…maybe, Kenny, Eric doesn't mean all the bad stuff he does. Maybe he ridiculed Stan and Kyle all this time because he secretly admired it. And so when you broke up their friendship it was more like a personal attack on him. And he always argued with Kyle the most, much more so than Stan. So if he pretended to be disgusted by the things he actually admired, then he must have really admired Kyle all this time, probably more than anybody else. It wasn't your plan that was surprisingly bad, it was Eric that was surprisingly good,"

Kenny stopped walking and Bebe halted a few steps in front of him. She turned and a gust of wind brushed past her; she cringed, shivered a little, hugged her arms to keep warm, tilted her hip and asked,

"Why are you telling me all that?"

"I was heartbroken,"

She seemed shocked. Kenny raked through his hair with both his elbows in the air, then dropped his arms by his sides, looking anywhere but into her eyes,

"It sucked. When I realized the plan had failed…I don't know, I almost…stopped caring. And I couldn't decide if it was that I seriously, genuinely didn't care anymore, or if I was like…putting my feelings away and pushing them to the back of my mind so that I wouldn't have to confront the…you know, the pain. Then…I would spend time with you…"

She felt her heart booming, it thundered in her ears; the thought that Kenny would reflect on the time he spent with her made her literally swell with happiness. He kicked at pebbles on the ground, absently, his heart still racing, but he didn't think on it much; his mouth wouldn't stop moving,

"I'd laugh with you. I mean, actually laugh. I wouldn't have to be high to have fun with you. You're cute and I mean it when I say it. And you're really nice to me, and you make promises to me that you keep…stuff like, that even when I push back on you, you're going to stay and you do. And you help me even if it's not something I deserve help with, and you rely on me even though I've told you I'm totally unreliable. You believe in me, and no one…I just…"

He sighed, forgetting the pebbles and looking off to the baseball field not too far from where they were standing,

"I would think, when I'm alone with you, I would think…God, if we could just run away…I mean, if I could get you and you and me could just run, and we could make it work even if it seemed impossible cause you believe in me and you care about me and you're nice to me when I don't deserve it. And…we don't fight, and you're not snobby and you're selfless, you're scared to be yourself with anyone but me and you've come this far with a broken heart and you always gave without ever expecting a single thing in return…"

He looked up to her finally, her flustered and flattered and astonished face,

"I would die for you. I wish I could light up the sky for you, I wish I could give you wings and I want to return everything you've given me, but I was such a coward that I wouldn't say a thing about returning anything, because I didn't think I was good enough to give you anything worthwhile…"

He paused to breathe. He felt heat rising from deep in his stomach all the way up to his face, he knew he was red, he knew his eyes were teary,

"I wanted the bad guy, I wanted someone who would be bad for me, bad to me, someone who didn't love me, but I didn't really love him. I wanted to love someone who would never return that feeling, because I thought that that was what I deserved…but, when I thought I couldn't be that person that **you** could turn to, that person with something inside them that made **you** want to stay beside them, I couldn't be that person to give you a damn thing worth anything, but then…you kept coming back. You wore my sweater, you were okay with saying what you really feel, and I felt important. I feel important to you. I feel like…I feel like you love me. I feel like you love me,"

He exhaled sharply, backing away a step, "I feel it, whenever you look at me, if I touch you or speak to you, the way you speak back and touch back and look…I feel it, I believe it's there, that you love me, and I tried to hurt you, Bebe…I tried not to love you back. I wouldn't take your advice, I would demean you, I wouldn't let you help me as much as you wanted to, but you didn't let it faze you…you just kept pushing and pushing like you always said you would. You love me, Bebe…"

She was bolted to the ground, entirely shell-shocked, unable to speak. He stepped towards her and she stumbled back to rest against the freezing brick wall of the building. He was almost angry in how he spoke, it was with determination, his eyes were flickering with something she had never seen in them before, but most importantly, she finally saw her reflection in them; only hers. He was looking only at her, thinking only of her and that flicker was about to turn into messy words and she could hardly wait, her breath broken and her heart suddenly very fragile and loud.

"You love me, I know it, I feel it, I believe it…it took about five years, but I believe you now…you love me, you care about me, you want me to be happy and I want you to be happy too…I want…I want to be the one that makes you happy, and I bet…I bet I have been that person from the very start…but now I want to be more-so. Now I want to be absolutely everywhere and everything to you, Bebe…no plan, no secret, I just want to run away with you, I want you to be mine and only mine so that no one and nothing corrupts how perfect and wonderful you are and it's all I can think about and it's all that makes sense and it's all jumbled and scary and weird and fucked up and I know how fast this all seems…but that's how I…function…but you know that already…"

He stormed towards her, pinning her tiny wrists to the wall, their heated faces so close their breaths were twining in the air and floating up to the clouds together. He rested the right side of his nose to the left of hers and their foreheads touched and his lips nearly touched hers as he spoke,

"You cry and call me a lot. You trust me, Bebe, so tell me what you feel now. You've told me just about every feeling you've got about everything ever, but you've never told me how you feel about me. Tell me, Bebe,"

"Y-y-you know how I f-feel…"

"How can I know for certain if you never tell me?"

They were staring straight into the other's eyes now, she was mesmerized as ever and her hands loosened from their frightened fists. She, rather than answering, tilted her face and kissed him. He returned the kiss with fervor, taking his hands from her wrists and wrapping one around the small of her back, the other hand tangling in her hair. He kissed her deeply, feeling a euphoria of which he had, until then, been unfamiliar with. She pulled away, huffing little clouds, tugging on his hair, running her fingers through it, sending chills all over his body, unknowingly.

"I love you. You knew that," She huffed out.

"You didn't know that I love you, though. You didn't, did you?"

"I thought you loved Er—"

"I explained that already,"

"You explained everything rather quickly, Kenny, I got a little lost here and there,"

He smiled, cradling the back of her head and brushing through the locks of gold as he replied,

"I'm happy feeling lost with you. Run away with me,"

She scoffed, although she was sincerely happy,

"We can't run anywhere, Kenny, you know that,"

"You love me, though,"

She blushed, "I do,"

"And I love you…you'll stay with me,"

"I'll stay with you,"

His smile broadened,

"Forever,"

"Yes, forever,"

"That is all I need, then,"


	42. The Boy Who Won't Matter Tomorrow

Stan was lying on his bed, sifting through his English binder that was expectantly half-empty. The beginning of the year, his notes were rather neat and his grades were at least passing. The further he went into the binder, the less notes appeared, the less homework was there and the poorer the grades became. He felt a sense of guilt, selfishness and failure washed over him and he let his face fall into the open binder.

_Why did I do all this…?_

Why indeed. He turned onto his back, his hair splayed out on the loose-leaf under him, his left index finger played with the bottom silver ring of the binder and his other hand drew circles on his diaphragm idly. He closed his eyes, but they didn't offer him any pretty pictures, only splattered and disappointing memories of times that could have been good, but were wasted on despondence, disinterest and spite. He opened his heavy lids and stared at the ceiling.

How long as it been since I've seen him?

Months. It had been months. He turned onto his side, tucking his arms against his chest as he tried to close his eyes again.

"_You'd be okay with just…leaving? I mean, I'd be all alone without you, dude."_

"_You idiot, I'd take you with me, of course."_

"_What?"_

"_Of course, Stan. I'd never leave you alone here. Stan, I promised that when you fell, I fell with you. That doesn't mean that when I rise you stay down. You come up with me. Wherever they take me or send me to, you're coming with me."_

"_What if they say I can't go?"_

"_Then I'm not going anywhere."_

He opened his tired eyes again. Kyle did go away. It didn't matter if Kyle was sitting beside him or across the world, if Kyle hid his heart away, then he was far away and Stan had no control over that. Kyle could be away from everyone whenever he wanted; he was smart and controlled and obedient enough that he could train his feelings to do whatever he pleased. He closed his eyes again.

_How do I make this better? What if it's too late? Why is it that the one person with answers for me went away when I need her most? What if Kyle doesn't want me anymore? What if I've ruined everything?_

He shifted slightly, aligning his sizable hands underneath the right side of his tense but handsome face.

_Whatever happens, I know it was right to break up with Wendy. Even if I have to feel this alone for a long time…I can tell. See, Kyle? Sometimes I do know what I feel…and sometimes I do the right thing for those feelings…I didn't do right by what I feel for you, though, Kyle…I hope you somehow feel this. I hope you feel me missing you…wanting you, dreaming about you, loving you even though you're far away from me…_

He was entirely out of energy. He was emotionally and physically exhausted. Breaking up with Wendy had proven less difficult than he first imagined. To look into her beautiful, caramel eyes was difficult, yes, but he never truly saw his reflection in them to begin with. There was no mercy or happiness in her eyes. Just boredom, just anger, just lust, want and pain. All of which Stan had no cure for.

_I wonder if she'll tell people what I said to her…_

* * *

"But…wait, I thought things were great, Stan?" She pressed, "I thought stuff between us was good!"

She didn't mean all the feeling she was expressing. She was a wonderful actress, which meant she was a fantastic liar. Stan didn't feel victimized being lied to by her, though. He just felt like everyone else. His hands were shoved in his jean pockets and he exclaimed,

"I'm sorry, Wendy, but…I'm hung up on…Kyle…"

"…on Kyle?"

There was a silence, and the rest of the conversation was somewhat a blur to Stan…

* * *

She never asked him if he was gay. She didn't ask if he was in love with Kyle. She never asked him if Kyle knew. She didn't ask for much clarification, which to Stan, implied that she had known from square one. He crossed an arm over his eyes, wishing his feet would stop fidgeting, wishing his mind would stop replaying old, painful memories, wishing his stomach would stop feeling hungry but un-appetized and wishing Kyle would just call him.

_Is that what Brandon did? Did he…did he just sit around and wait? I shouldn't wait. I should just call him. I should just pick up the phone, dial his number, get him on the line and say, "Kyle, I've been an asshole, I need to talk to you, I need to make this better, can I see you?" and we'll…we'll…_

He groaned to himself, punching the middle of his forehead.

_He's not just going to forgive me. He's not just gonna be like, "Yeah, sure, Stan, let's go for a walk by the lake! Hee Hee!" …I don't deserve him…I'm an idiot… _

He sat up, turned on the side of his bed, his feet touching the creaking floors and he opened his eyes. He knelt down, taking a cross on a chain from under his mattress, holding it in his hands and closing his eyes again as he let his head fall to his chest,

"Kyle… grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference. Living one day at a time, enjoying one moment at a time, accepting hardships as the pathway to peace…taking, as Kyle did, this sinful world as it is not as I would have it. I will trust that Kyle…Kyle, that you will make all things right if I surrender to your Will. Kyle's Will…that I may be reasonably happy in this life and supremely happy with Kyle…forever and ever in the next…Amen,"

He opened his eyes, looked at the chain necklace and said aloud,

"That was so against my religion…" He chuckled to himself a little, "…but that God won't let me be with him. He hasn't guided me at all…maybe one day I can believe in Him…maybe. But today, I believe in Kyle and all the love and faith he puts in my heart…and he has guided me and loved me more than…more than anyone on top of the clouds, hanging up stars at night or hiding in different galaxies. I love him, and I trust in him and all that he is…and has been can make me better, bigger, stronger…perfect, like him…I love him…"

"I so called this one,"

Stan twisted around in fear to his sister standing in the doorway. She was leaning against the threshold with her arms across her chest, on foot propping itself on its point to the opposite side of her other foot. It tapped on the floor in the hall, making the silence between them even thicker. She sighed,

"You think Kyle's as forgiving as Him?"

"I know so…I…" He blushed, "…He won't get in my way. I-I love him. I love Kyle, I love him, Shelly, I love him so…I love him so much. Loving like this, this sort of feeling, could never be a bad thing, I don't care what that damn book says, I don't care what Father Maxi thinks, I love him and I intend to spend the rest of my life with him…he is my everything, he's the one thing I can't bear to lose…"

"So, what's stopping you?"

"He's angry at me," He said oddly calm; somehow he wasn't scared of Shelly knowing, "…I don't know how to prove to him that I've changed…I don't know how to get him to forgive me…"

"Why not tell Mom and Dad?"

Stan's eyes widened, "Are you out of your fucking mind? They'd go nuts on me!"

She dropped her pose and came in the room, kneeling down next to him,

"If you want to prove to him that you really want this, then I suggest you show him that you're serious. Maybe pick up on your school work, maybe worm your way back onto the football team once your grades get better, show him you want to be better, and if you really want what you think you want, you'll tell our parents. If they do go crazy and kick you out, I'd think that someone like Kyle who could empathize, would gladly help you out,"

He smiled at her half-heartedly, "Every day I go without him, I feel lesser,"

"It's nice to see light in your eyes again, Stan. Bring life back into your heart, like you used to with him. He makes you the little brother I know and…"

He paused, freezing in place with bated breath, "…the little brother you know and…"

She groaned in annoyance, looking off, "…and love. Alright? Punk. If he makes you happy, that's what I want for you. Whether Mom and Dad are that modern, I can't tell. You'll have to run the risk or changing your life. If you like it how it is, stay miserable, but if you want him back, and as something more than a friend, they'll need to know, and it will prove to him just how important it is to you,"

"…you're right, Shelly,"

"Yeah, I know,"

He chuckled, "Thanks, Shelly,"

He didn't want to get his hopes too high, but somehow things started feeling better than just minutes before.


	43. The Pushover

"Something amazing happened to me this morning,"

"Yeah? What happened?"

"I woke up today, and to be honest…I didn't want to die as much,"

Eric smiled cynically chuckling at the blatant announcement, crossing his legs on the living room couch,

"That's good news,"

"So…I know after last night you didn't want to talk anymore about it for a while, but…you sure, no charges?"

"No, please, God, no," Eric answered hurriedly.

The fireplace was crackling, the night-time magic was filling the house with wine-colored air and forcing them to shuffle under thick blankets from the cold. Kyle smirked,

"I think I want you to be my best friend,"

Eric quirked a brow, "What are you talking about?"

"You told me that you'll be whatever I want you to be for me…I haven't really tried to hide the fact that I'm attracted to you, Eric, but you're not gay, so…you're just compatible with me. You make a hell of a best friend too. So…be my best friend, kay?"

The brunette smiled, "I guess that's one conflict resolved, huh?"

He smiled back, "More than one,"

"Oh? What's happened that I haven't heard about yet?"

Kyle fixed his pajama shirt over his knees beneath his blanket, his big feet curling at the edge of the loveseat.

"I called Brandon,"

"You did? What for?"

"Well…to apologize. He…I mean, it's true, that if he…if he had done the right thing at the right time, Bernadette would still be…but…I can't live in could-have's and would-have's all my life…I mean, we're all just human, and if something awful were to happen to me, I wouldn't want the love of my life blaming themselves, much less have someone openly blame them…so I apologized for how Stanley spoke to him and how I also regarded him…he appreciated it a lot,"

"I bet…that was really strong of you," Eric shifted under his own blanket, "I'm proud of you,"

"Thanks…you know," He started, "Brandon moved out of Staci's house,"

"Really?" Eric exclaimed, "What initiated that?"

"He said he was using Staci as a refuge for what he feared might happen to him and Bernadette, then it happened – they broke up, and he wasn't ready to accept it despite the fact that he was the one to leave her – he felt like if he kept hiding, pretending like he was the one that was running from the pain, then there might still be a chance she'd come running after him. He didn't realize that he was supposed to be the one running to her. He said staying with Staci wasn't what he was meant to do – that Bernadette stood on her own in all her pain, how he said it was, 'She danced in the rain', she let herself be shot at completely unprotected, and he felt it was only right for him to suffer the pain and loss that she felt. The pain he hid and ran from, he wants to face now, because she's gone for good, and he says if he can justify all she went through, he might have a chance to see her again…it was all quite touching to talk to him…in fact, I spent all this time hating him…but the fact was, I didn't know the man. I'm actually really glad that that man was the one to love Bernadette all her life, and that he was the man she loved back all her life. Sounds like they both hated loving each other, but hating how bound they were to never want anyone but each other must have made it constantly angsty and…thrilling. I bet it was thrilling to be them, to be in love like they were…he's in love with Bernadette. He always has been, so…he sees no point in staying with Staci,"

Eric nodded, "…that makes a lot of sense,"

"It does," Kyle looked up angelically, "I bet he'll see her again. A love like that – it's got to be rewarded, you know?"

"Yeah," He said somewhat dejectedly.

"And…I postponed the trip to Greece another week," He shrugged before Eric could ask why, "It's another week until the semester is over – why give the kids another substitute? I figure I'll finish up this semester, I've completed most of the year, as it is. One more week won't make or break me. So, one more week, and then you and me, for three years on the shores of Greek beaches, getting fat together,"

Eric laughed hysterically, "You are such a girl,"

"What else do you do on the beaches of Greece?" He giggled, "You eat like a hog, we'll both study and write and be inspired and shit, and life will be beautiful,"

"Yeah…and you know, Kyle…"

The redhead's curls bobbed as he tilted his head cutely…

"Yes?"

"You've…started acting like your old-self again. I like it, you seem…happy again,"

"I'm not entirely happy," He admitted, his eyes sad but smile still very apparent, "I'm content, though, I'm accepting things as they are…and you know…I figure I've been…sad long enough,"

"How do you figure that?"

"Because you need me right now," He announced bluntly, making Eric fluster, "You've been hurt, and you only just opened these old wounds. It's a perfect time for me to be living alone with you, this is a perfect time for me to forget my sorrows and stop all my selfish crying, and if I can't be strong for myself right now out of…out of…some, some overwhelming sense of self-pity, then I can find the will and way to be strong for you. You're my best friend,"

All Eric could manage to respond with was a smile and a small whisper, "Thank you, Kye,"

* * *

"Alright, the semester is coming to a close, you guys are on vacation all next week, then finals and we've all been aware that Mrs. Barnes assigned a paper at the beginning of the year to be finished by the end of this last quarter. What I need from all of you, are those papers, by the end of the day,"

"The end of the day!?" Butters shot.

Kenny was texting Bebe under his desk, but Kyle didn't do a thing about it. He sighed, and it was obvious to Stan that he was carrying the confidence and semi-swagger he had before Bernadette's declination – hell, before they suddenly weren't friends anymore. He wondered where all that charm came from, and why it was back so abruptly. Kyle looked to him from beyond his glasses, at Wendy and their corner of the room.

"I assume you all won't be handing one in, so don't bother with excuses, I won't include any excuses in my report to the adm—"

"I'll be handing one in,"

The room froze, akin the kind of frozen it was the last time Stanley Marsh spoke out of turn. Kyle quirked a brow,

"…Mr. Marsh…you'll be handing in a final project?"

"…yeah,"

Stan looked at Wendy pleadingly. She sighed, glancing between the two of them, complying,

"Y-yeah, I will be handing one in too, Mr. Broflovski,"

Kyle and the class were clearly taken aback. He nodded, "Well…uhm…that's…fantastic, then, I suppose. Remember, two-fifteen today, that's the latest you can get it into me by, I'm grading them all tonight and tomorrow, and then handing them back on Thursday so you guys can have Friday to sit back…so, uh…you guys can break out the laptops and work on them now if you want…otherwise, consider this Study Hall,"

* * *

Kyle looked up from his desk.

_I really am such a pushover._

He had limited all the class to hand in their final projects by the last minute of the last class, however he had four students still sitting scattered behind their wooden desks with laptops coloring their faces blue and white. Clicking resonated throughout the room along with broken and deep sighs, brief yawns and tapping feet and the tick tock of the demeaning clock. The clock that was slowly nearing three o'clock. Butters handed in his paper when the longest arm met the twelve. Wendy handed in hers thirteen minutes following that. Tweek handed in his thirty-four minutes after that. And at fifteen minutes before five o'clock, Kyle was sitting at his desk with only the silent company of Stanley Marsh. Every so often he would look up from under his lashes, beyond the fake glass, past the obscurities of his tangerine locks, and from time to time he would loosen his tie a tad more, or he would surf through Facebook in favor of filling in all the blanks of his grade sheet. He shut off his shiny Mac computer and pushed it aside; Stanley looked up like a deer caught off guard to him to see if maybe he was leaving, forcing Stanley to fail. He stood up, reaching into his briefcase that he had remembered to bring to his last class every day for the last two weeks he taught. He took out his iPod, hooked it up onto his ihome that he had brought into the classroom and played Billy Joel. "Vienna" murmured lightly through the room and Kyle could have sworn he saw Stanley smile before going back to typing.

He disregarded it with a furrowed brow, turning to the papers on his desk, pushing past Tweek's and Butters' in order to pick up Wendy's. He unconsciously slid his glasses further up his button nose, reading the small font before him. It was about Bebe Stevens. Kyle flustered a little reading it; it was eloquently written, he could hear the voice of a younger Wendy Testaburger, the one that would never insult someone else unless they were Eric Cartman, it was a small and intelligent and dignified voice. Solid, as if he had heard that voice just moments ago, or as if she were reading it to him right there. At seven years old, a tiny girl with a purple hat and color-coordinated outfit, sitting at one of the big, scary high school desks with the paper in front of her, not bothering to look up to Kyle as she read to him in her real, palpable, smart, kind, gentle feminine voice. It deserved a hundred. And he gave it to her. He pulled out one of the drawers, startling the other boy in the room to look up again in alertness; their eyes met and ivy blended into azure for what seemed like the first time in a millennium. Kyle gulped semi-nervously; Stanley did not waver, didn't show a sign of wavering except for that somewhat alarmed sparkle in his eyes. Kyle nodded more with his chin than his entire face, attempting to point at Stanley's laptop, as a sign for him to continue working. However, it was only when Kyle pulled out loose-leaf and a pen from the opened drawer that Stan trusted that Kyle was not removing car keys or a broomstick on which to fly out of the room with.

He returned to his work silently, and Kyle thought it was incredibly odd and out of character. He idly wrote down all of Wendy's grades of that years, and found that combined with the hundred she got for her final that counted as a quarter of their last overall grade, she would pass. He smiled at the loose-leaf; she was going to pass. He sighed tiredly, but loud enough that the sound of typing halted for a second and he looked up to meet blue eyes staring nervously again.

"I'm not going anywhere," Kyle finally told him.

Stan blushed a little; he knew what Kyle meant, but it still made his heart twist strangely.

"_What if they say I can't go?"_

"_Then I'm not going anywhere."_

Kyle had said those words before.

They were only temporary now. But Stan was intent on making this right; he dumped Wendy, he tried yelling at Kenny, but he was on his knees apologizing before he could say anything. He couldn't go near Eric Cartman – Stanley knew now that Eric was granted complete immunity from Kyle, and hurting Eric meant hurting Kyle. It made him sick to his stomach with jealousy and anger – he used to be that to Kyle. He knew he had been…well, ultimately, he had been replaced. And Kyle was horrid for a long time, for most of the year, but now he was back on his feet and seemed completely fine. Stan didn't want it to be fine; for Kyle's life to be fine if he wasn't in it. It was selfish to want such a thing, it was childish, but Stanley was able to accept that fact – he could realize that he was being selfish, but had no wish to control it. Maybe because that selfishness might be powerful enough to prove to Kyle he really needed him. He blushed more brightly, glancing away from Kyle's heavy and enchanting eyes, his heart filling up with air and sighing with the weight of Kyle's stare gone. He needed Kyle.

"Okay?"

Stan looked back at him, nodded, unable to form a coherent verbalization of all his thoughts, and instead opted to go back to work.


	44. The Tick Tock of the Clock

Kyle was flipping a page in his enormous book of poetry, his eyelids feeling heavy, all his papers graded but one. He glanced to his dainty wrist.

8:17 PM

It blinked.

8:18 PM

He hummed, putting his head down on the intersection of his arms, his curls tossing over each other, brushing his arms and desk. He thought about Eric and what he was making for dinner – he always waited for Kyle to get home before eating. He thought about purple grapes. They were really good. He liked purple grapes. He really wanted purple grapes. He turned his head, his eyes still shut. He wished he had fairy Godparents. He wanted more money, shapeshifting powers and new converse. Although, if he wished for more money, getting new converse probably wouldn't be as much a problem. He then thought it was pointless to wish for money if he could ask his fairy Godparents to just give him whatever he pleased. He imagined himself in a throne with a gaudy, golden crown sitting on his jungle of tangerine curls. He chuckled to himself; that was not what he wanted. He looked to his wrist again.

8:56 PM

His brows turned in; when had all that time passed? He picked up his head, and still, Stanley Marsh sat typing away. He huffed, plopping his pretty face in his palm,

"Stanley Marsh,"

Stan blushed wildly, looking up.

"You have had me sitting here for six hours and forty-one minutes. I think I have given you more than an efficient amount of extra time to complete the project you were meant to begin ten months ago,"

Stanley pulled out his cellphone. Kyle looked down to his phone that lit up. He put it out in front of him, his fingers pushing and pinching until he opened the message,

**Text received at: 8:57 PM**

**From: Dr. S. T. Slim / Asswipe**

**I just need to finish this paragraph. I promise it will be done soon just give me like ten more mins**

Kyle looked up to hopeful eyes glistening, pleading with him. Kyle nodded,

"Fine, fine, no need to puppy-dog eyes, just finish the damn paper by nine-fifteen. That's as late as I'll stay,"

Stan smiled, meaning to thank him, but the judging and terrifying and fanciful and enchanting presence of Kyle Broflovski, the boy he knew he loved now, had crushed his ability to speak. He went back to typing without a word.

* * *

_"Nothing is perfect, everything is beautiful,"_

_"I told her that if I dropped dead, you'd be able to continue the lesson."_

_"Of course; you're my best friend, Kye, my super best friend…I wouldn't change that for the world…"_

"Mr. Broflovski…"

**Tick. Tick. Tick.**

"Mr. Broflovski,"

**Tock. Tock. Tock.**

"…Kyle,"

"Mmm…"

"Kyle,"

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Stan's voice.

Some colors.

His eyes were glazed and the classroom windows let in moonlight. He looked up to Stanley Marsh smiling awkwardly.

"You still talk in your sleep,"

He yawned, extended his arm and wiggled his fingers,

"Your paper,"

Stan frowned; Kyle imagined it must have been because he wasn't up to reminiscing about their lost friendship. Stan handed over the printed masterpiece, announcing,

"I'm sorry I made you stay so late, I didn't mean—"

"Don't mention it,"

Stan swallowed audibly, "Uhm, so, this grade, I mean, I know I haven't kept up with the class for most of the—"

"It could save your grade. You currently have a fifty-eight. You need a sixty-five or higher to pass. This could make or break you, to say. Now go home, I'll see you in class tomorrow,"

Stan seemed immensely disappointed; hung out to dry.

"I…uhm…do you have any post-it's?"

Kyle quirked a brow, sitting up straight, "Yeah, I've got some. How many do you need?"

"Uhm…how many are in a pack?"

Kyle checked one of the drawers, pulling out two packs,

"That's three-hundred of them. Good?"

Stan smiled and nodded, "Yeah, thank you,"

"Yeah. Now, please, let me go home,"

Stan's smile half-faded, nodding again slowly, "Uhm, yeah…alright. Good night, Mr. Broflovski. Thanks for giving me the second chance,"

Kyle met his eyes to Stan's again and the universe played that light trick on them again; where it seemed like the whole world had a black-out except for two lights shining on either one of them. Their irises melded like Earth and ocean, clover and cloud, like Kyle and Stan. Two separate entities that were once one entire, unbreakable, devoted deity, transfixed entirely on loving their counterpart, being their counterpart, completing their counterpart, never being alone from the other. Kyle's heart leapt and his pulse doubled in speed,

"You're welcome, Stanley,"


	45. It's Time to Make Up Your Mind

Stanley Marsh

5/23/09

English 3

Final Project

This project was assigned at the beginning of the year, I know, but I haven't worked on it. This essay was supposed to inspire us. We were meant to pick something that mattered most to us and track how much meaning it had to us throughout the year – just one thing, like a father's sweater, or a baby's doll, or something not even tangible, something like an idea for a book, a celebrity's song or a friendship. We were supposed to track it, talk about it, write about, and if at the end of the year, we looked back on all we wrote, we'd maybe be able to see how much we'd grown or changed or something. How something we thought was really important became not-so important, or vice versa. I couldn't chose some one thing, though. That's why I didn't write this paper at first. It's sort of shallow, but to be honest, I didn't think that there **was** something so special to me that I would want to watch it's every development and change and moment and second breathing and living. I say 'didn't' cause I realize now that there has been something all along. And once I realized that there was, I also realized that I had actually been studying it all along. There's this kid, we've been friends for a really long time. A really, really long time. Over all this time, I watched him grow a lot. He used to be sort of short, but he really shot up from the ground once he joined the track team in middle school. Maybe it was a firecracker sort of start for his hormones or something scientific, but he got really tall, really fast. His hair used to be unruly and really frizzy, but they fell lose and he looks more like that main character guy from Entourage. Anyway, I'm going to stop talking like a jock now, and start talking the way you like to read stuff. This paper will probably take me a while to write because of that, cause I'll have open.

He's got some freckles, he's got this perfect nose, these big – I mean gigantic – acid, green eyes. He's got straight, perfectly white teeth and this bone structure that girls go crazy about. He's got broad shoulders and the small of his back curves like a petal. Which is befitting cause he's really gentle. And he's very smooth; he moisturizes all the time. He is an amazing dresser, this awesome sense of humor, he's delicate and gentlemanly, but also can be obnoxious and fun and crazy. But the thing you remember when you walk away, the thing that has haunted me since we parted; his lips. He has these thick, rich, pink lips. I kissed them once. I actually kissed them one night, a few times. Looking back on all the insanity of this year, from the very beginning of the year, I had actually been trying to kiss him a lot. It's funny to say that you tried to kiss someone and failed, because the first thought must be, "How did you fail?" I mean, how does someone mess up pressing their face up against someone else? Well, however it's done, I managed to fail, probably around six or seven times. How can I help it? He's a deadly sort of gorgeous, he's cool with who he is and that confidence is something that took me a long time to have myself; I'm good at acting like I'm confident, but I'm pretty bad at actually having any faith in myself. He always had enough pride and faith in me that I didn't think I needed any in myself; his was enough. But then he was gone, and I felt entirely alone and I did stupid stuff; I smoked, I kept kissing this girl that I was able to kiss and I didn't care about her. I drank until I threw up, I spent time with people who didn't deserve my time. I didn't realize all that until pretty recently, though.

You see, I was being selfish and stupid, and I missed him a lot. I let that control me and I became so wrapped up in how much I wanted him for myself that I tried to destroy and take away his dream so that he couldn't leave me for anything. That chased him away. It wasn't fair of me, as someone who cares and admires and loves him so much, I should have been proud and happy that he was reaching for the stars and actually catching them. But I was angry, I felt him drifting and without him, I was only half of me and I couldn't bear the pain. I acted out irrationally, made an idiot of myself and an idiot out of him. I couldn't be more sorry for what I've done. I went to my mother, seeing if my mother forgave me, that maybe I'd feel better. I didn't. I went to my sister to see if maybe she saw where I was coming from, if she forgave me, I might feel better. I didn't. I went to my church to see if, with the right prayers, or the right apologies, the Father's words of forgiveness might reach me and make me feel better. I didn't. I went to my English teacher, half-seeking refuge and half-seeking guidance. What I realized then was that if I was to be forgiven, that meant I was staying. I was settling for that accepted apology, I would or I could have been so warped and upset that I would have stayed forever with the one who forgave me, the one who made everything alright again. She didn't forgive me, though. She told me how to feel forgiven, where to go, what to do, she opened my eyes, and then she died in my arms.

Junior year is one that is going to stay with me forever. My friend came out of the closet to me. I kissed him so much and so hard, and I pressed up so close to him one night, and I still can't entirely explain what was going through my head. Then my best friend became my teacher and I yanked him out of Narnia so fast and so angrily that the world saw it and heard it, and suddenly, best friends became enemies. My ex-girlfriend came back to me, practically on her knees begging to be held and kissed by me, but I couldn't bring myself to do it somehow. I did a lot of stupid stuff for the first time too; smoking and drinking and all. Then my original enemy became my former best friend's new best friend. And someone who I thought was my friend set me up and pushed me into a fiasco of webs upon webs of lies and tricks and traps. At the end of the day, I was alone. That's what I learned this year; what it's like to be entirely alone. I had no one to trust and no one who genuinely, sincerely loved me, unconditionally. Except for my former best friend; he had loved me so passionately and so profoundly that it had carried on for all this time. It was the only thing I was feeding off of, it was all that was keeping me alive, I had nothing and no one else but this distant memory of once feeling loved and once being king and once having had all I would ever need. And throwing it away carelessly out of idiocy and stupidity. And selfishness.

So I look back on Junior year, you expect me to examine how much I have grown, what I've learned by measuring how the most important thing to me from day one has changed itself and has changed me. How my experiences have effected how I perceive all I am and all that is significant to me. My most important thing, the one thing I can't go on without is Kyle Broflovski. He takes care of me, even when he is cruel to me. And even when I am cruel to him. He is close to me even when he is far, because there is this beautiful piece of him lodged deep in my heart, and I don't believe it's ever going to get out. He loves me like no one else has ever loved me, he doesn't judge me, he judges my actions; always saying that what I am doing is stupid, not that I am stupid. He makes me smarter, he helps me when I need it, he is brave and caring and entirely wonderful and poetic in every single way. He made me feel something entirely different – he is so light, he makes me feel light, he fills every corner of my life with color and softness and he welcomes all my ugly and imperfection. No one has ever done that for me before. Not my parents, not my sister, certainly not my other friends...in a lot of ways, he has been all I've ever needed. I've never been happy since he left. But he made me like that, he made everything alright and funny and bright and good, everything was good when he was here. I know now that I've got a lot of growing up to do.

But he loved me anyway. And I know now that for what I did, I deserve to be alone and sad, but when I close my eyes or I catch a glimpse of him giving me a side glance of approval, I am filled to the brim with all that he gave me; foggy memories of torrid kissing, baking cakes in his kitchen, helping his little brother with his homework, being a part of his family and he being a part of mine. Memories of little kids fighting over stupid little kid stuff, memories of him staying awake all night just so I could fall asleep to the sound of his heart drumming away. Memories of learning how to iceskate, of scavenger hunts in the mall, of birthday parties that he would arrange for me and always getting me exactly what I wanted, without ever asking. Memories of playing video games until four or five in the morning, memories of snowball fights and wrestling and tickling; I don't care how stupid that sounds now. Guys aren't supposed to 'tickle' each other, but I don't care. I loved everything I did with Kyle. Everything I did with Kyle was perfect, everything Kyle made me feel was perfect, everything was perfect when Kyle was around. I would never have dreamt of ever asking for anything more than just his companionship, but I lost that somewhere along the line, and I am paying the price in full. I have never been more miserable and alone before in my life, I know my heart is in pieces, but despite that, even in pieces, my heart is still in his hands. Something tells me it's always going to be like that.

So, I look back on Junior year, and the most important thing to us was meant to have changed place. As in, Kyle was meant to mean less to me by the end of the year, I was meant to have grown and in having grown, I would find that something more practical or powerful was most important to me. Well, I've grown another inch and a half, I've had my heart stomped on every day, I've been kicked out of everything I have ever truly loved and cherished and I think that's made me stronger. But Kyle Broflovski is all I want, and Kyle Broflovski is all I need. But if I can't have him, and I imagine I deserve that and all the loneliness that means. And I'm willing to accept that fact. I love him, so I will hurt for him, if that's what will make him happy. But out of everything good, all the perfection and euphoria I want for Kyle Broflovski when I am not there to try and build it for him, I want Kyle to know that I am so, so proud of him. I am overflowing with pride; he has grown to be so secure, so smart, so confident in his abilities and he has grown into the boy I love more than anything else breathing and living and growing. The most important thing to me, in all this world, is that the poetic and magnificent and beautiful and astonishing Kyle Broflovski, the graceful and intelligent and loving and delicate and artful Kyle Broflovski, know that a shmuck like me is so, so, so proud of him. That is all I want for him.

I'd beg for forgiveness, I'd cry, I'd make a fool out of myself if that would prove it to him. How sorry I am, how proud I am and how badly I want him back in my life. But I thought that maybe, if I showed him that I wanted at least one good grade, if I showed him how much I think about him and how highly I think of him, I thought that maybe it might seep through.

He is the most cherished and dearest to my heart, more than anything tangible or ideal.

Tell me what to do to make this right again.

I love you, Kyle.


	46. I'm Going Home

**I LOVE ALL OF YOU. THANK YOU FOR ALL THE REVIEWS THUS FAR. :D**

**I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKED YOUR UPDATES TODAY!**

* * *

Kyle stared blankly at the paper for near to an hour. Re-reading, re-reading, re-reading…

**I kissed them once. I actually kissed them one night, a few times.**

"_I guess I'm just peeved that you…could kiss someone you barely know, but you're totally fucking put off by almost kissing me…I guess…"_

**I tried to destroy and take away his dream so that he couldn't leave me for anything. That chased him away.**

"_I may be a test-cheating, homework-copying, bullying, self-centered, even popularity-obsessed prat, but at least I'm not a __**faggot**__!"_

Kyle felt his eyes watering, unsure of what to do.

**He made me feel something entirely different – he is so light, he makes me feel light…**

"_Don't be retarded, you are my buzz."_

…**that the poetic and magnificent and beautiful and astonishing Kyle Broflovski, the graceful and intelligent and loving and delicate and artful Kyle Broflovski…**

"_That wouldn't freak me out."_

"_Then I think you look beautiful."_

Kyle held his head, his tears pattering against the paper and blurring some of the ink into blue and black blotches. Still legible, but all the same, tear-stained.

**I know now that I've got a lot of growing up to do.****But he loved me anyway.**

"_I'm only half of me without you, Stan, you bring me to my optimum. There's no me without you, but even if I had the choice to stand while you fell, Stan, I wouldn't; half of me could never appreciate stability as much as a whole of me could treasure being at rock bottom with you."_

"_What if you hated me?"_

"_An impossibility."_

**..and he has grown into the boy I love more than anything else breathing and living and growing.**

…**he has grown into the boy I love…**

"All of those nights," Kyle laughed bitterly to himself as more tears fell, "All of those nights, chanting, praying, hating myself…thinking that I had to be…I had to be…"

_If only I was a girl…then it would be okay to like him. _

_If only…I was a girl…_

_I could be…someone he could maybe love…_

_If I was a girl…I could make him happy…_

…**he has grown into the boy I love…**

…**the boy I love…**

He released a sob, smiling grandly, but crying harder than he ever had, rubbing his palms against his forehead, his curls leaking through the spaces between his fingers.

"_I know there's been something on your mind, Kye. You know I can always tell."_

Stan was his Super Best Friend. Of course he could always tell.

"_Not you; you never fall."_

Of course he fell, he was human too.

"_Don't threaten me with a sore ass, you're the one who decided you like that, not me."_

That was certain; Stanley wasn't gay. He wasn't.

"_You're just cute."_

Was Kyle really so cute? To Stanley? To heterosexual Stanley Marsh?

"_You'd be okay with just…leaving? I mean, I'd be all alone without you, dude."_

Would he truly be all alone without Kyle? It certainly seemed that way through his writing.

"_You're just fucking amazing."_

He's really not that amazing.

"_Then I think you look beautiful."_

Beautiful? Stanley Marsh thought Kyle Broflovski was beautiful? Beautiful?

"_Can I…can I touch you?"_

Of course Stan could touch Kyle, it's all Kyle wanted.

"_I love you,"_

No. Kyle was sure he misheard that. He was deluded and tired, it was late and…

**Tell me what to do to make this right again.**

**I love you, Kyle.**

**I love you, Kyle.**

**I love you, Kyle.**

**I love you, Kyle.**

**I love you, Kyle.**

…Kyle was loved by Stanley Marsh.

"_Geez, Broflovski, I wish I had a friend like you when I was a teenager. It's hard to find reliable, trustworthy people in high school, You two are very lucky to have each other."_

Kyle is lucky to have Stan. And Stan is lucky to have Kyle.

He sighed out a last sob, and looked up at the sun rising through the window. It shined lights all around his room, twinkling in his eyes. The light that once told him to bask in his pain, that destruction and brokenness was coming, and coming fast, told him now, that he was blessed. It told him going to Greece, living with Eric, it was only running. He was better than that. Now, it was time to come back home. It was time to love Stanley Marsh. Openly, proudly, and be loved back by him.


	47. Two of a Kind

**You guys have practically been begging for an ending to the story XD haha, so I've taken mercy on you and I hope you love your last chapters!**

**Shout-outs at the end!**

* * *

Ike rubbed his tired, dark eyes, moaning tiredly. He blinked slowly, glancing out the window; the sun was only just rising over the endless streets of snow, it must have been only four or five in the morning. He was wondering why he was awake, when a ringing resounded again. He reluctantly rose from bed, slipping over the side of his mattress, falling into a light blue robe and matching slippers, otherwise the preteen was sauntering about in his underwear, and he didn't feel comfortable answering the door for someone in that sort of condition. He and his brother were prodigies after all, Ike believed they had reputations to up keep. He slumped down the stairs and the bell rang again. He opened the door a crack,

"Ike?"

The boy froze, his eyes widening and watering, every muscle and iota bursting forth into conscious sobriety. He threw the door open and pounced, immediately exploding into tears,

"Kyle! Kyle! Kyle, Kyle, you're back! Kyle's back!"

The redhead smiled into the tuffs of black hair that smothered his thick lips and held the back belonging to the arms that so selfishly crushed his ribs. His eyes watered too, but he didn't let himself cry; he was happy to be home, and he was happy that someone had missed him. Ike whipped around, not closing the door, not letting go of his brother, scared that he might disappear if he gave him any space to breathe.

"Mom! Dad! Kyle's back, he's back! Kyle's here!"

"Ike, I don't know that they'll—"

Ike turned his bright face back to Kyle, his dark eyes twinkling, his smile big and grateful despite the tears wetting his face,

"Mom's been so worried, Kyle. We hadn't heard from you, we hadn't seen you, we knew you were leaving for Greece, but Mom and Dad have been too worried and nervous to do anything. Mom said that if we moved too fast, things would go wrong, but she's okay – she realized that you were always the one cleaning and cooking for her and helping me in school. She let her entire garden die cause you're the one who usually tends to it! Dad was walking around proud and angry for weeks, but he started realizing just how much it meant for you to be gone too. I don't think Dad's smart enough yet to understand you or what you want, but that's okay, cause Mom is and if you come back, Dad can get used to it, he can realize you're still you…and I never stopped liking you, Kyle,"

He tucked his face into Kyle's chest again. The English teacher was left speechless. His mother walked into the room, in her robe, yawning, only half-awake,

"Ike, for the last time, Kyle is not here, he isn't just gonna walk up to our do—"

At seeing her eldest son and only blood bond, she seemed bolted, as if seeing a ghost. Kyle's father followed quickly after, seemingly more awake and wired than the other two in the room. Kyle pet Ike's hair, the young boy's face fully planted into the crevasse of his chest. The eye-contact with his father was different than all other times. It was a pair of eyes he had to face alone, without Eric beside him, without Bernadette giving him pep talks in the car, without Stan there to say he was proud. There was no son in the reflection of his father's eyes, there was a stranger. Not a stranger that his father detested, though. Kyle nodded to both of them, his breath slightly exasperated,

"Hi…"

* * *

"I heard you made quite a scene at the burial,"

Kyle looked aside, smiling, placing his cup of tea on the kitchen table, Ike attached to his hip.

"Somewhat. I was distraught, and unfortunately, at the time, I believe I was more of a child. The loss of that magnificent woman has grown me a lot. I acted out in immaturity. Especially towards her ex-husband, who I formally apologized to. He is truly a kind man, just human. Makes mistakes like the rest of us and I let my selfishness get in the way of my sensibility, and I was cruel to him. Not only that, I sought comfort and refuge from Cartman. He provided me with everything, and I have helped him out financially. He really needs a woman in there; can't keep a room clean for more than an hour,"

His mother nodded; she still seemed shocked to see him, her son, sitting across her kitchen table from her. Acting as if he'd never left. It had been months, and he was so withdrawn. She wanted to see the laughing, childish Kyle Broflovski, the one who was her baby, the one **she** had to help take care of…

"And Eric…where is he now?"

"He's home,"

He had a new home.

She felt her heart breaking. This was not home to him.

"A-and does he know you're here?"

"Yes, he's well aware I'm here. He was entirely against my coming to talk to any of you, you know, except for Ike," He took a moment to ruffle the boy's black hair, his happy face still stuck to Kyle's heart, "But I told him it would only be cowardly and childish to have…run away from you. If I kept hiding and not speaking to you guys out of fear, or frustration or something…I'd be no better than Brandon – the ex-husband, I mean…he didn't end on an entirely good note with Bernadette. They loved each other, though, still, and I suppose what I'm saying is…I can be angry, that doesn't mean I hate you…and you being angry or disappointed in me, that doesn't mean you hate me…I know we still…we still all love each other…we're family…and I think if we're all willing to try to like each other too…then things might…just fall into place, you know?"

She sat back, his father standing by the back door, a cup of coffee in his right hand, leaning against the kitchen counter. He glanced to his feet, sighed, looked to his wife; their expressions apparently translated messages to the other. Ike looked up, smiling,

"I'm just glad you're back, Kyle, I missed you,"

"I missed you too, Ike,"

"Mom?" Ike began, "Dad?"

They both looked to Kyle; it didn't appear like he was expecting anything, but he wasn't bitter looking either. He wasn't the child he was when the year first began. More than anything else Kyle had said or done, that fact, that blatant change in maturity, elicited a certain respect from his father. He cleared his throat,

"You want to live with us again?"

"Not if I'm not welcome. I'm more than happy living with Eric. In fact, it's probably been the best parts of my year…coming home to someone who cherishes and respects and admires me the way he does. And I do the same for him. We're highly compatible. If you don't want me to come back, I will gladly stay with Eric and no offense will be taken. If you would like me to come back—"

"We do!" Ike interrupted, looking to both parents, "We want him back! Admit it!" He twisted his head to Kyle again, still unable to let go, "Come back, Kyle. We want you to,"

"Well," Kyle began, looking back to his mother and father, "If you would like me to come back, it will be under one condition,"

* * *

Kyle anxiously watched the clock tick away all day, waiting for ninth period to finally arrive; where Stanley Marsh would be. His student, the boy that loved him – the young man that loved him. Kyle had thought long and hard, through all the crying and huffing and screaming and snapping; maybe it was the fates pulling them apart for that year. They weren't meant to be friends that year, because by the end of it, they were so covered in mistakes and regrets, if they had made those mistakes together, they could've grown into people that could only hate each other. To grow, to learn, they had to do it alone. Kyle had to realize he wasn't as mature as he thought he was, he had to know what loss is, how to live on his own, how to learn on his own, what it means to be alone and what home really means. He had spent over an hour that morning picking out what he was going to wear; including Bernadette's diamond ring. The possession she lent him in turn for him to share secrets; a possession she never remembered to ask for again. He was in a light green t-shirt, tight, torn and light blue jeans, and white converse. A digital watch donned his wrist, and a white belt wrapped around his tiny waist. He left his fake glasses at home; no more disguises, no more pretending he was something he simply wasn't. Only pure, fresh, undiluted, top-of-the-line Kyle Broflovski.

The bell rang, eighth period exited and ninth period galloped in. They all slid into their seats, the sun shining on the minimal frost outside. He sat on his desk; everyone seemed fairly taken aback by his informal attire – the past, what, six months? He hadn't worn anything but button-downs with ties and slacks for all that time, and seeing him, looking like a student again was almost unnatural to the kids. Stanley was instantly taken by the image; his heart melted – it was as if Kyle Broflovski hadn't changed one bit that entire year. Kyle swung his converse against his desk as the bell rang for everyone to be seated. He leaned back on the ball of his palms and looked over all the faces.

"It's been quite a year for all of you, huh?"

Bebe fell in love with Kenny.

Butters lost a friend to suicide.

Red's mother is fighting breast cancer.

Damien was diagnosed with a bipolar disorder.

Everyone in his class had written a paper about their challenges and most important and most cherished treasures. There was a silence among all of them, agreeing, curious, but silent.

"Before I was your teacher…I was Mrs. Barnes' student. Which means, I am just as much responsible for that paper as all of you have been," He began; the class listened in friendly silence, very still, motionless, "The thing I held dear to my heart became my worst enemy overnight, and things do change, people change, times change, fads and looks change…but what I have found, is that no matter what, love does not change. Love remains entirely intact, completely the same,"

His eyes screened across the room, "It's not as if that love goes away…I mean, think of it like matter; matter cannot be created or destroyed, only mended. That's what love is like. Bebe, what you held dear all year," He began, making eye-contact, "Your love for it never went away…it just changed form…that's how love should be. Invincible, unpredictable, but never gone,"

He sighed, "I learned some really, really hard lessons this year…but that, by far, was the hardest one to understand and I'm glad I finally did…Bernadette Barnes would have been really proud of you. And I want you all to know that she put her heart and soul into teaching us all…"

The word "us" called attention to him. The class seemed more lively, or more in tune with him, because suddenly, with one small word, he wasn't a separate entity. He wasn't part of an exclusive "them", he was part of the "we". Again. He went on,

"She sacrificed so much time, so much blood, sweat and tears to give you guys the depth and knowledge she wanted so badly to spread to young minds…not out of anything, but pure, un-diluted, selfless, giving, careful, cautious, impatient and unadulterated love. That love will never be gone from us. She will always love us, it's here, floating around and lodged in all our hearts somewhere, this big piece of her – her insight, her humor, her wonder…and it will make us all stronger. Agreed?"

He was smiled at grandly.

Kyle tilted his head, looking to Wendy, Stanley and his group of Greasers.

"Mr. Marsh,"

He gulped. Kyle smiled.

"You passed,"

He looked to Wendy, "You too,"

"The class?" Wendy asked incredulously.

Kyle nodded positively. He seemed so nonchalant and aloof, his head tilted back, leaning back on his hands, posture gone slack and overloaded with swagger, contentment, confidence. He looked away, opening his mouth to say something else when Stan shot up out of his seat, fists clenched nervously,

"Wait!"

Kyle looked at him, mouth still agape, cocking a brow,

"Yes?"

"Y-you…you…you didn't tell me what to do. Tell me what to do,"

**Tell me what to do to make this right again.**

**I love you, Kyle.**

Kyle glanced at the sparkle of the diamond on his ring finger.

**I'd beg for forgiveness, I'd cry, I'd make a fool out of myself if that would prove it to him. How sorry I am, how proud I am and how badly I want him back in my life.**

"Mr. Broflovski," Stan pressed anxiously.

Kyle looked up to him, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, his fingers twined in the air between those knees,

"What to do? You want me to tell you what to do?"

"Tell me,"

The class was staring in wonderment. There was something itching all over; no one knew exactly what was going on, but they knew it was something big. Stan exhaled deeply through his nose,

"Tell me, Kyle,"

The redhead tilted his head slightly; he had a way of doing that all the time, and no matter how many times he did it, the gesture was still painfully adorable. It made Stan want to kiss him.

"I don't know what to tell you,"

Stan's heart **sank**.

He knew it; Kyle would never forgive him.

He slipped off the edge of the desk, planted his hands on his hips and offered,

"You're the one that said you'd do all those things; cry, beg, make a fool of yourself. I won't order you around. You do what you think is right, and if it is, everything will fall into place. I'm not on a pedestal. I'm just as helpless as you,"

Stan smiled a little.

"So! Tell me, tell me what to do!"

"Have you not heard a word I said?" He asked tiredly, but not impatiently, "Go ahead, Stanley, make a fool of yourself for me, that will make me forgive you,"

He meant it in sarcasm.

Stan brushed a hand through his hair, storming up to Kyle. Their noses practically met; Stan realized that during their year apart from each other, somewhere along the line, he had grown an inch or so taller than Kyle. He wondered how long it had been since he was within that proximity of Kyle Broflovski. Probably months. If not a year. Kyle's breath was practically Stan's, their noses were less than an inch away, Kyle was looking up at him from under his lashes in the feminine, charming way he used to. He blushed a little, his face still bewildered, but calm and grown. Stan pushed his forehead against Kyle's, maintaining eye-contact all the while,

"Kyle…can I touch you?"

"_Kye…"_

"_Yeah?"_

"_Can I…can I touch you?"_

Kyle gulped, glancing to the pressure of the eyes of his class shortly before looking back into Stan's eyes,

"Y-yeah, I suppose…"

Stan's hands immediately slid to the sides of Kyle's face, his callused thumbs brushing over Kyle's satin cheeks, every second more blood rushed through his chest and his limbs, his mind fogged; he was touching his angel again. The love of his life, his best friend – his super best friend. This divine creature, in his arms again somehow, every inch of him tickled, it made the corners of his mouth tug into a charming smile. He realized he could stay like that forever; gazing into Kyle's enchanting eyes, holding him so close that they were breathing each other's sighs, pretending like the rest of the world had gone away. Kyle Broflovski's eyes were only on him. That's what he liked most. Kyle's beautiful, ivy green eyes were concentrated only on him; not Bernadette Barnes, not Eric Cartman, not school work or hidden behind fake glass. He could finally look into Kyle's eyes and know that he was the sole inhabitant of his mind. A thousand songs were playing in his ears, a thousand thoughts were flying through his mind, a thousand sensations were rushing across his body.

And in that frozen moment, it dawned upon him.

He was a teacher's pet.

Kyle was always so smart, always teaching him, always letting him study from his homeworks, always aiding him in school. Kyle was always, in more ways than intellect, Stan's teacher. And all Stan wanted was his undivided attention and affection. That made him a teacher's pet, didn't it?

Maybe they both were. Maybe they were both able to teach each other what really mattered. And maybe they only wanted each other. Maybe they both only needed each other. To love, to laugh and, of course, to learn. That selfish tug, that need to have the other's attention no matter the cost, to have their affection and doting – it was a crush, but more than that. Kyle was his King and Soldier, everything packed into one delicate, lovely human being.


	48. Just The Beginning

**I'd like to give special thanks to:**

**Riba Bian, Newey, Witlee, .-HeartBreakProductions-., Sapphire Anime Bubble, TectonicPlatez, Fanfictionlove4allfiction, Chibi Caru, BlackRoseMuffin, Biju-no-Shukaku, Jayeff, and kyleisgod for their outstanding support, reviews, fanarts and all! You were my most contributing readers and I wanted to thank you all personally for that! It is so, so appreciated. **

**Also – if anyone wants me to add an epilogue for Bernadette and Brandon to know, what in my head happens, leave it in a review and if five or more people request it, it will be added later on. As for now, this is a clean ending and I hope you all loved reading it as much as I loved writing it! Thank you for the year-long support, it's been an absolute pleasure!**

**Thank you to all reviews, adds, fanarts and favorites! Every shred of support is adored!**

* * *

Kyle's voice was an octave higher than what it was used to being. He glanced at the hands on either side of his face. Then back into Stan's azure gaze.

"You said you didn't care about me being gay…why did you call me a…why did you do that?"

"I'm an idiot and I hurt you and I'm sorry…I was falling apart without you…I'll lose my mind if I don't have you,"

Kyle blushed furiously, "You're not good at making a fool of yourself,"

"Oh, just you wait," He purred.

When he shoved their lips together in the waves of gasps, Kyle's heart rate increased tenfold. His eyes shut tight and the semi-familiar feeling of Stan's lips against his was filling him with an ecstasy unlike any singular fantasy a daydream reality ever brought him. Stan was pouring, from out his lips, every word of adoration and love that he could no longer form, forcing to dance across Kyle's tongue, the feelings he was so inept to and unable to express properly and it shook Kyle to the core of his soul. And down his throat, a thought resounded from that kiss. It fell down his neck, zipping through his chest and sitting somewhere deep in his diaphragm. That thought slowly turned into a whisper, and that whisper began to glow, and that glow caught the eye of any thought-up pair in his mind, and they poked and prodded and wondered why. And those questions grew louder and louder, and stronger and stronger until the glow turned into the light of a massive supernova of sound, color and light, flying through him with a song and feeling so loud that he could see it and hear it and feel it and taste it – it was the only way Stanley could tell him how he made him feel. And when he took his thought back, when he took his lips away with a gasp and the class's sounds were incoherent beyond the excited pulse banging through either's head, the glow zipped and popped and vanished as quickly as it had arrived.

It was easier to believe that Stanley loved him when he could give Kyle a feeling like that.

Stanley turned towards the class, grinning stupidly as Kyle touched in wonderment and shock at his swollen, thick lips.

"That's right, my fellow students, I just kissed our teacher. Not only that, he isn't a faggot – I mean, he is, but he's not the only one here anymore," He smacked Kyle's ass, sending a shocking sound through the room, making Kyle jump and grab his behind with both hands and squeak, "I'm in love with Kyle, and if anyone here has a problem with it, I'm sure me and every weapon I can get my hands on would love to show them a good time. So, any complaints?"

There was silence. He looked to Kyle's bright red face, his lips agape in horror, his hands planted firmly on the back of his jeans. Before Stan could apologize for the abrupt and noisy and apparently paralyzing sexual harassment, a clap began to bubble. Kyle's face calmed down, and Stan looked around with him as Bebe Stevens led a congratulatory applause, Wendy followed and Butters after that, and one after another and another and another, and soon it felt as if the world was applauding them. Stan nodded, smirking,

"…alright…"

He looked at Kyle again, who donned glassy eyes and a sensitive smile. Kyle was brushed with an ocean of pinks and loves and unspoken thoughts.

"Do you love me back?"

Whatever the world was doing outside of the two lights on them was beyond either one. Finally, they were in sync, and those two lights shone on both of them, their eyes were met, their lips still held hints of the taste of the other, the world was coming back together, the universe was rewinding and freezing and bringing them back to that world where they could just be happy. Kyle's eyes welled up with all of his tears, everything he had left in him to cry; he burst forward, wrapping Stanley into his arms, hiding his bashful but smiling face into the crook of his neck, nuzzling his wet, but warm cheeks against the sensitive skin there and told him over and over, "Yes, yes, yes, I love you, I love you, Stan, I've waited so long to say it, I love you, yes, I love you,"

Stan's right hand came up to the back of Kyle's tangerine locks, brushing through them and their milky texture broke over digits like marmalade tuffs of tangible smoke, his left hand wrapped around Kyle's waist and held the middle of his back, keeping him tight against his body, kissing the top of his head and the crown of his forehead. It would never be enough.

"…_but when I was like ten I called you a fag or something for always being around him and you…I asked you why you went to each other's houses every day after school, even if it was only for ten minutes, I mean, you were just __**always**__ together…and you told me…you said being with him was the only way you knew you weren't wasting a day…of your entire life…you were ten and you knew, you knew that if he wasn't there, it was a day wasted, a day you'd never get back and that __**would**__ matter…"_

Cartman had said that.

Cartman was right. And Kyle always had been.

So many days were wasted being angry and alone.

He had made the decision to change, though, and in Kyle's mind, and what Bernadette had always told him, was that once he made that decision to change, he had already begun his transformation.

A transformation into someone who could and would love selfishly and selflessly until his dying day.


	49. Epilogue

"Hey, Bebe," Stan greeted as he sat beside the girl.

"Hey there, Stan," She smiled, turning to face him and closing her book. She looked out across the field and the born-again-student, Kyle Broflovski was talking to his guidance counselor across from them. She quirked a brow, "Hey…Stan, it's Wednesday, and ever since you saved your English average, you've been on the team again…so, why aren't you practicing with the rest of the team?"

He grinned oddly and shifted awkwardly, "Well…it's kind of…embarrassing…"

She snorted, "It's me, come on, Stan!"

He grimaced, sighing, defeated, "I…I'm just…too sore to practice today,"

"Sore from what?"

"…from…wrestling…"

"Wrestling? Since when have you ever—…where exactly are you sore?"

He blushed furiously, "Don't tell Kenny! If he finds out –"

She burst out laughing. He made a sad face, "I don't appreciate that, I'm in a lot of pain here!"

She kept on laughing and he went on to insist, "Really, you can't tell him…last year, we were all talking about in the hall…saying how Kyle looked and acted like such a bottom…and he does, but…Jesus Christ, behind closed doors he's really not who you think he is!"

He was going to complain about her not listening because she was laughing so hard, but Kyle approached and exposing any details about their romantic whereabouts was off-limits in Kyle's book – too much bad had come from it all, and so he intended to keep himself as hidden as possible without shame. He smiled at Stan,

"Come on, Stan, I taught my mother how to make your favorite sugar cookies last night, so we should head over – not to mention, Ike has a new crush and said he wants us to help him win her over,"

Stan smirked, "Ike's a genius, why does he want to talk to us?"

"I dunno. It's unusual for him to ask me for advice like that,"

Bebe made a crying sound and wiped at invisible tears, smiling evilly as she inquired,

"What's her name?"

"Jamie,"

Stan hummed in interest and Bebe laughed again, "You're such an idiot – he's asking you because it's a boy!"

Silence.

Kyle looked at her, "…what are you talking about? Jamie – that's a girl's name,"

"No, Jamie is unisex, it can be a boy or a girl, and if he's all of a sudden asking you, his gay older brother with a successful gay relationship for romance advice, he's probably crushing on a boy,"

Stan began to laugh and Kyle began to stammer about how that theory couldn't possibly be true, but shock soon turned to hopeful surprise coated in excitement. They walked home, Stan swallowing soreness and silently cursing Bebe's insensitivity the entire while back.

When they walked through the front door and Ike attacked Kyle in a hug as usual, Stan looked up into the threshold between the living room and the kitchen to see Mrs. Broflovski and Eric Cartman in aprons, splattered with powders and sugars.

At first hearing that Kyle refused to move back in unless Cartman came with him, he was shocked and disturbed, but after a year of coming back to Eric being there, he eventually saw that they had a perfectly healthy friendship. That was no to say that Stanley wasn't entirely all over Kyle at every moment possible, you know, just in case Eric had any second thoughts.

All plans for Greece had been postponed until the end of Senior Summer – they had done the math, and Kyle calculated that if Bebe, Wendy, Kenny, himself, Stanley and Eric pooled their money, they could all afford to stay together for one year in Greece to study with three of the professors there. Wendy had begun to clean up her act – she wasn't one hundred percent human yet, but they all hoped she would be back on her feet by summer, and if she wasn't, she would suffer the summer alone. It was the price someone paid for getting by all that time acting like such a brat. But she was honestly sorry, and working hard on self-improvement, and she had a thousand teams of support inside each of her friends.

Love was a tricky little critter.

It crept up on them so slowly, it gave them all such a challenge to face, a challenge to be faced all alone; a decision only the individual confronted could make for themselves. To love, or not to love, to be selfish or selfless or both simultaneously. To keep a heart open and warm, or closed up and cold, or guarded but occasionally soft, or only soft to one person – they were all different and not everyone got a happy ending, nothing was ever perfect, nothing is meant to be. What is messy and poetic and lovely and indescribable and palpable but without consequence to anyone other than the one feeling it is perfection. Some people are too scared to be messy, some people are too inept to be poetic, some people are too disgusted with the world to be lovely, some people are too logical to be indescribable and some people are too ghost-like and gone to be palpable. But Kyle Broflovski was writhing with inspiration, as was his lover, Stanley Marsh and there was nothing more perfect than being with him and being his, as he always wanted to be.

"Before we sit down with Ike, I gotta check my Facebook,"

"I saw you made your default picture that one of you from last year at the mall, at Kenny's birthday party, where you're wearing the lingerie in front of the Victoria Secret store,"

"Yeah," Kyle laughed, "I was looking through old pictures and couldn't stop myself,"

When they logged on, Eric was with them, sitting in Kyle's room, looking over their shoulders.

**Bebe Stevens is sorry, Stan!!!**

Stan gulped as Kyle scrolled down…

**Kenny McCormmick is STAN MARSH BOTTOMS TO KYLE BROFLOVSKI HAHAHAHA LMAO**

Kyle blushed, Eric laughed uncontrollably and Stan mumbled a curse.

One thing to certainly tell Ike; never trust a woman with the details.


	50. Chapter 50

**I've been dead for a while, and I wanted to write more about my favorite OC couple :] So, I added a chapter. Hope whoever reads it, likes it :D**

* * *

"Tell me you love me,"

Her smile stretched across the sky, her auburn hair cascading and framing her face in silky waves, her voice soft and tender.

"I love you, Bernadette,"

"How much?"

It was his turn to smile. And with it, he could rule the world. His dark hair brushed alongside his ears and tickled his forehead; he was so very handsome.

"More than anything,"

"Anything?"

"Anything,"

"Tell me more," She demanded.

"About how I love you?"

"No – about anything,"

"Anything?"

"Anything," She confirmed.

He rolled over onto his back and she climbed on top of him; the squeaking of his bed could have woken up his parents, but he didn't mind it. For, in turn of the anxiety of his parents finding him in bed with his teenage girlfriend at an obscene hour of the morning, he was rewarded with the chance to hold her at intimate angles and look into her angelic eyes at a proximity otherwise unavailable to him. He pet his callused, but comforting hand through some locks of her satin hair as it poured onto his naked shoulder and pillow. He closed his eyes and concentrated on feeling her breath dance across the surface of his lips, slightly parted. His eyelids so heavy, he could have been in a lucid dream and her form simply a mirage among the desert of his discontentment. But he would open his eyes again and find his gaze reflected in the oasis, to save him from the heat and torture and loneliness.

"I do not have one passing thought that isn't entirely about you,"

"Is that a fact?"

"It is,"

Her smile grew more broad and the moonlight slipped down her shirt and into the small spaces by her eyes and nose and ears and lips as she shifted. Her palms spread over his chest and felt his heart pounding triumphantly for her; his complexion was the smooth affair between the cello and bass and his irises were the steam of a weak tea or strong coffee and he was warm and lovely, singing in her blood and tickling her bones. To touch him was to feel his warm embrace on every inch of soul, to by touched by him was to bind them by something intangible. To rake her hands through his hair the way she would was to brush away all the sadness she'd ever felt or ever known she felt. To have him want her, was to never live in a world outside his bedroom and arms ever again. The sighs in his stare breathed out from her, deflated her own lungs, blew out from her own lips and he was a warm escape, a place she never had to feel weight or anger. Her stomach flattened against his own rigid one and she entwined her legs with his, switching the weight on her shoulders and allowing her hair and eyes to fall in the opposite direction. Still maintaining eye-contact all the while.

"And?"

"And I love you," He told her.

"Your voice is so low,"

"It's because I'm so tired,"

"You sound much more manly,"

"Do you like that?"

"Somewhat,"

He closed his eyes, turning his head, her fingers curling against his cheek that was half-rested on his pillow. He opened them slowly again,

"Tell me you love me back,"

"Why?"

He met her eyes, a joker in her pupil, playing with his heart, taking loans out on his kindness that she could never, or rather, would never repay.

"Because when you tell me to tell you so, I do,"

"Is that the only reason I should say I love you?"

"You should say it because you mean it,"

"Oh, do I?"

He furrowed his brows and turned his face straight toward hers,

"What does that mean?"

"I'm just surprised you think you know me so well,"

"…what?"

"It's a tad presumptuous of you to assume that I harbor feelings I don't vocal—"

Before she could complete her thought, he had taken her by her dainty wrist and pulled her forward, tugging her into a torrid kiss. He glared at her when they were parted and in a hushed tone, bit out,

"You love me. You always have, you've never had eyes for anyone but me and I will not tolerate being toyed with. You love me and you will not lie to me or play with my heart. Am I understood?"

Her eyes were wide and twinkling with stars and unspoken words, her face reflecting shadows of the nightlife just outside his window, in a way, almost mocking the theater in his mind. He was no director, he could not re-write her character to be the heroine of his show who endlessly devoted undying love. He could pretend, though. He certainly was good at pretending.

"I love you,"

"Again," He ordered.

"I love you," She said, closer to him, if at all possible.

"Never stop saying that," He murmured as he closed his eyes and relaxed his neck.

His eyes barely opened to see her climbing out of his window, back into the real world, a world outside his bedroom and arms. Her glow combined with the morning light dripping out of the orange and black faucet of the sky made only of stars and clouds and she met his half-conscious look and her countenance was in all ways radiant as she barely whispered,

"I shall never know another truth but that I love you,"

And so even when he had slept, all she had uttered were words of love, and until the very day she died, all she would ever speak would be words of love for him.


End file.
